Scars of a Survivor
by njeha
Summary: She is the lone survivor of the Second Wizarding War; once she decides to embark on the journey into the perilous past, there is no going back. She decides not only to save lives, but souls, too. However, not everyone would be so welcoming to her intrusion, especially since she is Lady Slytherin. Will she be able to save the past and stay alive? FEM!POTTER & DARK FEM!POTTER. ANGST!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: ****All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **A/N: ****Before I start with my latest story, I KNOW that many stories like this have been done before, but I have many ideas, factors and plot twists to make it different. So don't worry, I promise this story will be very interesting and worth the read.**

 **My main character is FEM! Harry; DARK FEM! Harry but NOT evil; SMART FEM! Harry & CUNNING!**

 **Warning: ****Just to inform my readers so that I don't get complaints in the Reviews; this story will be Dark; there will be mentioning of torture, rape (although not in details ONLY TRIGGER), and some dark thoughts.**

 ** _**Bold Italic**:: **Flashbacks.**_**

 **Chapter 1:** **Destiny of Time:**

 **S** ilence blanketed the air; not one of tranquility and serenity, but an eerie, all-encompassing one, laced in hopelessness, tainted in despair, and enwreathed with devastation.

If one decided to take a stroll along the once majestic castle – an ancient stronghold that used to be Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, built by four of the most powerful, brilliant and famous witches and wizards eons ago, with the sole purpose of providing safety from outside forces with evil intent, and nurturing young minds, educating generations of children in their heritage – one wouldn't recognize it at all. One would find more cheer in a graveyard if they happened to stumble upon the once majestic castle that was a renowned safe haven and home, _a fortress_ , to the wizarding populace.

In a graveyard, the dead were put to rest; they were grieved, mourned, respected and visited by their loved ones. One would set flowers and knickknacks by their graves, were prayed to… spoken to every odd day.

Hogwarts however, was a battlefield.

An epic battle commenced on May 2nd, 1998, spontaneously engineered by the Chosen One and an inspiration to many, and the Darkest Lord ever known, a megalomaniac wizard who went by the moniker of Lord Voldemort. The Chosen One was prophesized to defeat him once and for all, and ever since the age of one, _never_ knew or experienced peace.

The insane crusade of a mad wizard with a superiority complex was terminated and Lord Voldemort was defeated once and for all on May 3rd, 1998. Unfortunately, there were no celebrations, no revelry to toast the victorious side of the Light, no laughter and cheer, no dancing and merrymaking. Loved ones didn't reconvene in the land of the living and speeches weren't made depicting the many years to come now that they were free from an evil dictatorship where the next generations of witches and wizards would be able to flourish, live, love and learn, building a better, united, and serene future.

In the midst of the destruction, a lone figure could be seen strolling desolately along the remains of the once majestic castle, attempting to recall what once used to be their safe haven and home – to no avail.

The battlefield – because Hogwarts could no longer be labeled as the impressive fortress it once was; the battlefield lay quiet, no sound but for the discreet and cautious footfalls of the lone figure, trying not to accidentally step on a loved one or a brave soul that had lost their lives in the previous battle, for it was now a graveyard of the unburied. Corpses lay among the broken dilapidated ruins, tossed carelessly like dolls, faces frozen in their last moments, eyes unseeing and mouths gaping; there was not even a _single_ corpse to have died portraying a serene visage.

The sun was beginning to rise as the lone figure resolutely made their way onwards, wishing to pay respect to each fallen valor who died as a warrior. There were no fathers, mothers, brothers or sisters waiting in vain for their loved ones to return from the epic battle that decided the future of Britain, for they had all fallen, lying scattered from each other in the wrecked, ramshackle ruins of the castle.

These people were once children who played in the gardens, reveled in their first broomstick, expressed joy at receiving their acceptance letter upon their eleventh birthday; the fallen warriors who succeeded in attaining adulthood and starting families cheered at the first signs of accidental magic displayed by their offspring, worked diligently to achieve tuition money to send them off to a reputable magical institution, prayed and awaited and whinged for grandchildren. Every single fallen warrior laughed at each other's silly tales, recalled their past in Hogwarts and passed on stories to their young ones … their eyes were as immobile as their limbs; their souls had long departed to the celestial plane to walk among their ancestors and reunite with their lost loved ones that perished too early in the two pointless wars that created havoc and demolished the nation.

The lone figure's eyes closed in remembrance, numb legs slowly folding into a kneeling position in front of a heart-wrenchingly familiar corpse, a fallen who staunchly remained by their side through thick and thin until their dying breath; yes, they all fought to their last breath, fighting for a better future, and in the hopes that their death would make a difference.

The bitter wind swept by the lone figure, tousling their hair to the side; it was all for naught. Everyone was dead; there was _nobody_ left to rejoice and live for what they fought. None of them would be able to enjoy the peaceful life they helped create.

The earth… the wooden stone and the grass were plastered with red. Crimson was viciously painted all around from the corpses to the ground and on the lone figure's person.

It was unbearable, so agonizingly excruciating, and the lone figure felt grief grip their heart and… _she_ _ran_.

She ran seeking solace in the one room she had yet to visit, hoping to hear the smooth, grandfatherly voice that always managed to assuage the heavy burden that constantly weighed on her soul. No password was required as she stormed through the gargoyle and darted the stairs two at a time before barging through the door, eyes taking in the décor of the familiar room she had spent most of her last year in. The room that always, without fail, engulfed her in feelings of safety and undying love.

It was the only room untouched by the final battle; the only room that was so painstakingly the same and hadn't reduced to shambles. Looking up, hollowed and deadened eyes that only knew pain, that only saw death, met oh so familiar eyes staring back at her with solemn grief. Soft blue eyes that usually twinkled with mirth and joy, looked at her with love, pity and sadness… and pride, but she felt it was misplaced.

"Oh, my dear girl. I am so, so sorry," the grandfatherly voice that she missed dearly whispered, and finally, the dam broke and tears began to fall. Her tear ducts began working again and she collapsed onto the floor on her knees and cried her ruined heart out. Although she felt betrayed and angry with the old man not long ago, she instantly forgave him when she stared death in the face, welcomed it and then conquered, and she needed him more than anything right now. She needed him to tell her that everything would be okay. This man never failed to give her hope, hope for a better future, and yet now… such a probability seemed glaringly improbable.

"Dumbledore, they're all g-g-gone! … _Dead_! No one survived. No one but _me_ ," she cried out, pulling on her crimson locks in frantic agony.

"Wipe away those tears my child and come closer," Albus Dumbledore spoke softly from his majestic portrait that hung reverently in the Headmaster's office.

But she paid no heed, lost deep in despair. "I am _cursed_. _Cursed_ to always roam the world alone, _cursed_ to always witness my loved ones die for my sake, and _cursed_ to never know happiness! I am _cursed_ to a life of solitude and despair," the last words were articulated in a forlorn whisper, and Albus knew that she had lost all hope… and losing hope was a dangerous thing, for it meant that one would lose the will to live and he could not have that happen to the toddler he watched grow into an admirable woman, the girl he loved and cherished as a granddaughter.

"Scarlett Sage Potter, you listen to me and you listen now! Hope is not lost; if you have something to fight for, then hope can be found in the most obvious of places. Remember, Scarlett, remember… happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light," Albus said mysteriously, and once again Scar found herself staring at the familiar twinkle of the Headmaster she yearned to see ever since she witnessed his death at the Astronomy Tower, a twinkle she never thought she'd be able to see ever again … at least not while she still lived.

Finally, Scar managed to get up and walk lifelessly to her mentor's portrait, "You know something. Tell me."

"My dear child, already so much has been asked from you, ever since you began developing in your mother's womb. I hate to burden you with more, but-"

"If I can change this outcome, if I could _fix this_ , change the fates of everyone, I would. I will do _anything_. _Tell me!_ " Scar hissed, once again, the familiar heavy weight dropped onto her shoulders. It was almost like another limb to her, for Scarlett Sage Potter knew in her heart, mind and soul, ever since discovering the meaning behind that curiously shaped lightning-bolt scar on her forehead, that she would never know peace – only burden, sorrow, pain, hardships and leadership.

Albus' eyes glittered with hope and sorrow, pride and grief, yet he inhaled a shaky breath before exhaling loudly and in a sorrowful tone, spoke, "When I donned that cursed ring that claimed my life, when Severus healed me and succeeded in postponing my death for a year, I began looking into more than just Tom's Horcruxes. I tenaciously searched for a second chance, a back-up plan if you will. Hidden in my safe, untouched by any but I, is a second chance, Scar. I began delving into obscure magic… _time_ _travel_. Time travel that differs greatly from your past experience with Miss Granger… _no_ , this means of time travel will take you decades back instead of mere hours."

Shocked, flabbergasted, Scar's limbs began weakening and she sagged heavily into the empty chair she claimed as her own during all the time spent discussing the war and her fate with her old mentor. Her mind was whirring with all the possibilities, but before hope could grip her shattered heart, she met the wizened Headmaster's gaze, "And…? Did you succeed?"

Under the direly grave circumstances, his pale lips managed to curl into a smile, "Why, my dear Scar, have you already lost faith in my abilities? I would not have mentioned it to you if I failed. Go open my safe, the password is your birthdate, and withdraw all its contents."

Cautiously approaching the safe, Scar summoned her trusty wand from her wand-holster and activated the password. The safe's interior resembled a goldmine, and the Chosen One reverently gathered them all, emptying the safe completely before laying them on the Headmaster's desk and shooting him a curious glance; there were many potion vials filled to the brim, its contents looking severely disturbing and illegal, books, parchments, and a sack filled with ingredients.

"Two potions are already made, illegally if I might add. However, the most important potion of all should be concocted by the person meant to imbibe it and that is what the sack of ingredients is for." Scarlett once again made herself comfortable on her previously vacated seat and concentrated her full attention on her mentor's next words. "The potion you shall be creating has never been made before, Scarlett, and I _urge_ you to take extreme caution and listen closely, for the consequences of inattention shall be astronomically _dire_."

Clearing his throat, the deceased Headmaster expounded the cryptic potion, "Eons ago, after Merlin graduated from Hogwarts, he began looking into traveling through time. He was a curious lad, and found the theory of jumping through time quite phenomenal. On his dying days, _he succeeded_ , yet he was unfortunate to never have the chance to test his creation and so, he wrote down the formula in his diary and I am proud to say that I located it during my many leaves in your sixth year. The potion was named by Merlin himself: 'Destiny of Time' and he wrote that the fortunate soul who succeeds in concocting and imbibing the potion correctly and triumphantly with selfless means to make a better future shall be bequeathed his heir and, their destiny shall change upon their triumphs in jumping through time."

Taking a deep breath, Albus spared her a prideful yet knowing look, "I believe you shall be able to conquer such a feat, my dear Scar. However, we arrive at a stalemate since it has never been tested before and the potion is quite complex; it must be imbibed during a full moon which is a week from today."

"I'll do it," Scar resolutely spoke up, the determination in her eyes never wavering with the burden and the difficulties that lay ahead. Albus beamed, "My child, of that I had no doubt. …Now, listen closely, the black murky potion was procured from the Black Library and it is meant to suppress and block bloodlines… I believe consuming it would be for the best, that way, when you step into Gringotts to receive your Ladyship rings, your Potter and Black lineage would be concealed deftly from the Goblin's magic."

"I'm sorry, Ladyship _rings_ , as in _plural_?" Scarlett questioned in confusion.

Albus solemnly sighed, "Yes, Scarlett. I am afraid to inform you of this, but now that you have defeated Tom, you _are_ , in the eyes of Lady Magic _and_ Mother Earth, Lady Slytherin by Right of Conquest, and the title shall travel alongside you to the past, it is already coursing through your very veins as you have yet to lose the valuable gift of Parselmouth."

"But, but-, but Dumbledore! The past is murky, and for one with the lineage of Slytherin-, it won't be safe for me," Scarlett argued. She didn't care a lick about the opinions of the close-minded and prejudiced Light Families that were stuck in their beliefs regarding all Slytherins were inherently evil… with all she had encountered and faced, with all the Death Eaters she had unmasked and fought against, she knew such nonsense to be nothing but bigotry and ceased caring what others thought of her after the accursed Triwizard Tournament.

"As Lady Slytherin, you will have the ability to capture the interest of Death Eaters and those who had yet taken the Mark, Scarlett. You have the chance of not only saving lives, but saving _souls_ , of stopping the misled from swearing fealty to Voldemort. _Also_ , you will be able to capture Tom's attention… it is beneficial for you, my dear. I urge you to bear the Slytherin name."

Nodding hastily, she acquiesced; Dumbledore's words had merit… Not all Death Eaters started out evil with a dark soul, Voldemort made them. Evil was made, _not_ born; except for Peter Pettigrew and Bellatrix Lestrange, and she shall take great pleasure in destroying them when the time came.

"Good. Now the burnt orange colored potion is to make you younger. You shall be traveling to the year of 1976; to your parents sixth year at Hogwarts, before many swore loyalty to Tom and the unfortunate deaths began. You are nearing your eighteenth birthday, and this potion is enough to de-age you to sixteen."

"Is there anything else I must be informed of before I start on the potion?" Scar asked dutifully.

Blue eyes twinkled with pride and love, "Yes. I have catalogued every death that had occurred from the first war, every event and happenstance I could recall; there is a heavily detailed parchment laid out on the table. Keep it safe, and keep it close; it cannot fall into the wrong hands. Secondly, I have taken the time to write my past-self a letter, informing him that you are trustworthy and to listen to you and take every word into consideration." Pausing, his solemn gaze pierced Scar, his following words laced with genuine sorrow, "I do apologize for wronging you my dear girl, and I hope you will trust my past-self to lend you aid. Thirdly, my pensieve, take it with you; all my memories are within and it will aid you immensely in the past. And finally, and Scar, you must _pay attention_ ; once you imbibe the potion, there is _no going_ _back_ , you shall erase your existence and live only in the past. Scarlett, if you fail or regrettably, _die_ , there shall be no future Scarlett Potter traveling back, there are _no second chances_. Alas, you will never have to worry about witnessing your future-self's birth… Destiny of Time assures no other share your destiny; James and Lily Potter shall never give birth to a Scarlett Sage Potter… only one of you can and are allowed to exist."

There was a sudden stillness in the room; but it wasn't the bitter and mournful silence of the battlefield, it was a shocked stupor as Scarlett processed Albus Dumbledore's alarming words of finality. Gulping audibly, she weighed his words and thoughtfully said in a slow manner, "What if I die? Let us say I die before I manage to defeat Voldemort, or alternately, say I die _after_ I manage to defeat Voldemort?"

Albus gasped, a shrewd look flickering in his eyes before the twinkle vanished to be replaced by grief, especially when he took note of the determination in his favored student's ruined eyes. He stared meaningfully at her and spoke in a hush, "Scar- … if you die in the past, then…" Regrettably, he uttered the next words out, knowing Scarlett's decision would not be swayed, "Then _yes,_ you shall be born as you were on July 31st, 1980. But my dear-"

"Don't bother, Dumbledore. You cannot change my mind, the decision is made and I am stubborn. I always dreamed of growing up with my parents in a warm household filled with love and _laughter_. While I was never given a birthday cake to make a wish in the first decade of my life with the Dursleys, I always made the same wish in the solace of my ' _room_ ' for a family. Once I rid Wizarding Britain of Voldemort, it is best I die alongside him and allow my future-self to live the life I never had. The life I've always yearned for," Scarlett said determinedly, tears swimming in her eyes, and she gave him a watery smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

"Scarlett, _please_. I beg you to reconsider… James and Lily will be able to procreate many children in the new future, they just won't be you. Merlin's potion is the _Destiny_ of Time; even if you die, there are many possibilities, the off chance that you will _not_ be her is merely guesswork," Dumbledore pleaded desperately, hoping beyond hope that he would manage to alter her mind.

She shook her head adamantly, metaphorically putting her foot down, "The possibility is all I need… even if I fail… _I'm tired_ , Dumbledore. So _very_ tired; my soul is lacking and my heart is black and tarnished… not with evil and malice, but with all the heavy burdens, all the death, pain and torture. I want to save lives and souls; I want to build a better future, just-"

"Just not yours," Albus whispered, saddened eyes devouring the phenomenal witch before him, a pearly tear making its way down and disappearing behind his silvery beard.

"Just not mine," she despondently agreed. "I have already lived a terrible life, I want to rest in peace once I am done with my last mission; a mission worthy of Merlin's successor that would make him proud."

"Good luck, my dear. You have always been a granddaughter to me. I am _so, very_ proud of you."

* * *

 _September 2_ _nd_ _, 1976;_

 **T** he Great Hall was buzzing like a hive of swarming bees; mutterings, mumblings, hissings, murmurings and whisperings could be heard as the _Daily Prophet_ was distributed with the routinely morning owl post.

On the front page, written in capital bold was the headline:

 ** _LADY OF EMRYS & SLYTHERIN EMERGES!_**

 **Today morning, dear readers, Gringotts bank was visited by a witch supposedly in her teens. But, nobody has ever seen this witch before in the British Community. She donned a black, hooded cloak and the only distinguishable feature of hers, visible to all, were long locks of crimson hair, vibrant against the black apparel as she confidently sauntered to the till with her head held high.**

 **Eavesdroppers were quick to confide that the witch asked the goblin at the front desk that she wished to claim a Ladyship, and although Goblin Axehook was skeptical, he consented.**

 **It was to the crowd and Goblin Axehook's greatest astonishment when the allotted drops of blood landed onto the parchment and the elegant cursive script formulated;** ** _Scarlett Sage Emrys-Slytherin, Lady of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Emrys_** **AND** ** _Lady of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Slytherin_** **.**

 **There you have it dear readers, two of the oldest and most powerful lineages have been found. Two lineages that have been thought to have died out many centuries ago.**

 ** _Who is this formidable Lady that appeared out of nowhere? What is her business in Britain? And where has she been for all these years? Why claim her Ladyships now when times are dark?_**

 **That is a mystery I will be glad to uncover.**

 **Reporting to you,**

 **Daily Prophet Reporter, Aleena Greengrass.**

There was pandemonium in the Great Hall and a multitude of confused and mixed emotions.

The Gryffindors, while curious about the descendant of Merlin, were disgusted by the fact that she was also a descendant of Slytherin. The Hufflepuffs were unsure, and although they were loyal and diligent, feared Lady Emrys-Slytherin to be a dark and powerful opponent. The Ravenclaws were equally interested, desperately wanting to meet Merlin Emrys' descendant yet unbothered mostly by the discovery of her being Slytherin since most were known to be unbiased.

The Slytherins however, were at an impasse between pride and curiosity. The ones who swore allegiance to the Dark Lord were confused with the appearance of the Lady to their house, confused because Lord Voldemort was boasted to be the only successor of the Slytherin line, and many wanted to court this powerful Lady of two equally archaic bloodlines who was said to have died out centuries ago. Nearly every member of the Slytherin House smirked in success at having an obvious Slytherin in their midst.

However, a curious occurrence transpired when the stern and strict Professor McGonagall ambled down the hall looking completely frazzled as she reached the Headmaster's side and leaned in, whispering frantically into his ear. The mass then bore witness to the jovial and usually calm Headmaster's face rapidly pale, the regular twinkle in his soft blue eyes dying out as the utensils dropped from his firm grip, clanging loudly against the golden plate and he jumped out of his seat, hastily exiting from the Great Hall, leaving a worried Deputy Headmistress behind and furious whispers in his wake.

Albus Dumbledore moved along quickly to the gargoyle that protected his office and living quarters to see a hooded figure leaning leisurely against the stone wall, patiently awaiting his arrival. Minerva was correct in her speculation as his eyes pinpointed on the long crimson ringlets cascading down the front of her waist… Lady Emrys-Slytherin had indeed come to Hogwarts.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, I do apologize for rudely intruding your breakfast. I know the proper method and decent conduct was to send you an owl asking for a meeting, however time is of the essence that we meet immediately," Lady Emrys-Slytherin spoke, and Albus could not help but smile faintly at her cordial words and her beautiful soprano voice, no matter if it sounded strained and worn-out.

"No matter, my Lady. Follow me." Albus whispered his password and ambled up the stairs and into his office. Once he made himself comfortable in the Headmaster's chair, he beseeched the curious Lady and intruded softly into her mind with Legilimency – only to backtrack in shock when he collided with a metal-proof door guarded by men armed with Muggle ammunition… _how curious_ , he had never before witnessed such a skilled Occlumens before that used such a Muggle technique in occluding their mind… especially not from Lady Emrys-Slytherin, who he had immediately assumed to be a pureblood.

"I am a skilled Occlumens, Headmaster, and I warn you not to intrude on my thoughts again without my express permission. I am a private person, yet you may ask whatever you wish and I shall endeavor to answer to the best of my abilities if I deem them to be fit," she vocalized, and although her answer was polite and amiable, the wizened Headmaster detected disapproval and awareness, almost as though she had expected the action from him… _how curious_.

"Very well, who are you?"

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Lady Emrys-Slytherin unveiled herself, shedding her cloak and gently tossing it aside, and Albus Dumbledore knew he was the first person to observe her true face ever since she appeared in Magical Britain.

Lady Emrys-Slytherin was… there were no other words to describe her: she was breathtakingly and achingly beautiful. However, Albus could not help but focus on her peculiar irises… the coloring was odd and distinguished her immensely from a myriad of people.

Her skin tone was pale, yet slightly tanned, notifying the wizened wizard that she was amiable with outdoor events; she had a patrician nose with prominently high cheekbones detailing an aristocratic parentage that was assembled in a heart-shaped face. However, the remnant facial features were soft and gentle; her lips were plump and petal-shaped, her bottom lip thicker than her upper one and when she smiled, two dimples appeared indented into her cheeks; she also had a curved chin and a long, swan-like neck that most pureblood witches could never hope to have. Crimson hair, disturbingly equated to blood, framed her face, cascading down to below her waist in ringlets and although he did not have an accurate view on her figure due to the desk separating them, it was clear to him that although she had appropriate curves and a womanly figure, she was gaunt and emaciated.

Many scars were depicted on her person from her bare arms and a few on her face, however the scar that stood out most of all, was a curious lightning-bolt shaped scar that while faint, looked utterly painful, crude and mind-boggling.

But her eyes… those eyes spoke of a tale that the wizened Headmaster was curious to reveal. Emerald green eyes sparkled vividly, standing out immensely, yet they were not whole; surrounded by the emerald coloring was a thick ring of blinding white surrounded by a thin ring of violet. Albus Dumbledore knew that such eye coloring was not hereditary. Dismissing the curious sheen of coloring, he concentrated on the myriad of emotions displayed freely for him to see – haunted and deadened that spoke of misery, pain, suffering and cruelty, and the Headmaster's curiosity had reached its peak.

"My name is Scarlett Sage Emrys-Slytherin," she stated.

Nodding, Albus forced a smile, "How about some tea while we discuss your queries." Without acknowledging an answer, he waved his wand at the teapot's direction and it abruptly sprung to life as the water bubbled, before the teapot levitated in the air and poured a decent amount into two matching teacups. Albus' grip reflexively tightened on his wand when he noted the stranger's strange eyes focused on it with a startling intensity. Clearing his throat in an effort to distract her, he said, "Now, my Lady, what brings your presence at this hour?"

Tearing her eyes from his wand, she squarely met his gaze, "There are many matters of importance we need to discuss. However, I understand trust is limited during these dark times. I will relay to you facts nobody knows of you and I beg you to believe me, because what I have to say is… _highly_ improbable."

Chuckling slightly, Albus nodded his head and waved for her to continue, deciding to humor her for the time being.

"That wand in your hand is the Elder Wand, one of the Deathly Hallows. You won its allegiance during your duel with former lover, Gellert Grindelwald who currently resides locked up at the fortress, Nurmengard," Scarlett spoke coherently, each word ringing ominously in Albus' ears. The Headmaster's normally soft blue eyes hardened and his polite gaze turned into a hostile glare, anger and suspicion the main emotion displayed on his features, but before he could utter a word, Scarlett continued with confident ease, "You blame yourself for the death of your sister Ariana; and to this day, you still don't know which wand is responsible for administering the final blow, be it yours, Gellert's or your brother Aberforth's. Ever since then, you changed the ideology, 'For the Greater Good' and spent your time bettering the Wizarding World and pushing for equality, never stepping up as Minister because you do not want to hold so much power over the masses. Am I correct?"

"H-Ho-How, how do you know? _Who are you_?" Albus angrily demanded through gritted teeth, eyeing her with suspicion and fury. Every word she uttered, every single word, had been his deepest and darkest secrets. Not even Aberforth, his own brother, knew of his paralyzing guilt and private fears.

"From Aberforth, and… from yourself," Scarlett steadily responded, succeeding in garnering a befuddled gasp and cock of the head from the Leader of the Light. "You see Headmaster, as _unbelievable_ as this sounds, I am _not_ from this time. I was born on the 31st of July, 1980."

"That's four years from now. _Impossible_ ," Albus adamantly shook his head, eyes turning icy with anger and suspicion, an emotion Scarlett only witnessed during her fifth year when he dueled Voldemort in the Ministry's Atrium.

Wordlessly, Scarlett retrieved an envelope from her person and slid it across the desk to the suspicious Headmaster, who immediately tore it open and unfolded the parchment, eyes widening with every jotted word. Finally, his eyes connected with hers, "It is written in my handwriting with my signature toward the end…"

"You prepared that letter before your untimely and unfortunate death," and the aging Headmaster heard the pain and sorrow laced in her voice; even if he hadn't read the letter, it was glaringly obvious that this girl cared deeply for him in the future.

"My future-self advised me to trust you and to believe every word you say; that you would never lead me astray, amongst other things. Tell me, what was our relation in the future?" Albus curiously asked, because although he had his favorites, he never allowed himself to get close with his students until _after_ they had graduated.

A sad smile overtook her features, "You were my mentor, my idol and a beloved grandfather to me. Although at the end I felt betrayed by your actions toward me, I never stopped believing in you and loving you."

"But why? I never allow myself to build relations with my students until after graduation," he insisted.

"I will inform you, however, before I do, I must stress my reasoning for being here. The future is very grim-"

Albus rapidly raised his hands, and shook his head, "No, no. You must not speak of the future; you cannot change its course. Dangerous consequences occur to those who mess with time."

"That is true, _if_ there was a future to return to, Headmaster. There is no future; I have traveled back on a one-way journey. There will be no consequences; I have concocted and imbibed Destiny of Time," Scarlett revealed, prompting Albus' eyes to widen in disbelief and incredulity.

"The potion is said to be a myth and incredibly impossible to concoct."

"You always loved doing the impossible and I am deeply talented in potion, I inherited it from my mother. You researched it and located Merlin's diary, saving it for me to use as a failsafe. I have _no_ future to return to, destiny allowed me to change its course."

Albus resolutely nodded and waved for her to continue. Once Scarlett informed him of how she succeeded in traveling to the past, she took in a deep breath. Now came the hard part.

"My true identity is not Scarlett Sage Emrys-Slytherin. I was born on July 31st, 1980, christened with the name, Scarlett Sage Potter, daughter and only child to James Potter and Lily Potter née Evans."

A fond smile introduced itself onto Albus' visage and he let out a fond chuckle; now that he knew her true parentage, he could clearly see the similarities she had to James and Lily… except for the eyes; he now knew something had terribly gone awry to transform such wonderfully unique emerald eyes to such a dreadful state. "James and Lily, hmmm? There has been a betting pool going around with the staff on whether or not those two would end up together. I do look forward to collecting my winnings in the future."

She threw her head back and let out a loud bark of laughter, "Yes, I am aware of Lily's hatred to James at the moment. However, there is no happy ending," her visage morphed to solemnity in the blink of an eye. "Four years from now, you will be interviewing Sybill Trelawney for the Divination post at Hog's Head and just as you denied her the position and went to take your leave, she made a prophecy, one that changed the Wizarding World and destroyed my life forever more;

 _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark the one as his equal, but the one will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies …"_

Albus Dumbledore greatly resembled a fish out of water as his mouth opened and closed numerous times, before he cleared his throat and regained his thoughts, enough to articulate a coherent sentence, "And the child was you?"

"Funnily enough, no. It was between me and Frank Longbottom and Alice Longbottom née Prewett's son, Neville Longbottom, my god-brother." Suppressing the image of Neville's corpse, she resolutely ploughed onward, "A Death Eater was sent to spy on you and managed to overhear the first few lines before Aberforth kicked him out, and he hastened to inform Voldemort at once. The Potters and the Longbottoms went into hiding under the Fidelius Charm, and unfortunately, my parents entrusted the wrong person to be their Secret Keeper. He was a spy and betrayed their location and on Halloween, 1981, Voldemort broke in to Godric's Hollow, killing my parents before turning his wand on me… I am the only known survivor of the Killing Curse, escaping with my life and the scar on my forehead," Scarlett tapped her finger against the curious scar that held the Headmaster's curiosity.

Jaw dropped, eyes wide, and curiosity heightened, Albus gazed at Scarlett as though she had grown a second head, "How did you survive? There are no means of surviving the Killing Curse, yet you mentioned a _second_ war, I assume he returned somehow?"

"My mother… Lily, she sacrificed herself to save mine. James yelled at Lily to take me and run while he fought Voldemort off. Once he deftly killed him, he strolled over to my nursery where Lily had barricaded us and proceeded to convince her to step aside. Lily vehemently refused and pleaded for my life, ' _Not Scarlett, please, take me, not Scarlett. I beg of you, have mercy_.'" Verbatim, Scarlett emotionlessly repeated her mother's last words, prompting a grimace and pitying eyes from the aging man opposite to her, "He killed her, but unknown to him, old ancient magic was evoked, and magic protected me. According to you, _love_ of a mother protected me, leaving a mark and when Voldemort trained his wand on me and uttered the Killing Curse, it rebounded onto him. His body was destroyed and he was banished as a spirit, nothing but the meanest ghost, while I was being hailed as the Girl-Who-Lived."

Fawkes let out a trill and perched himself on Scarlett's knee, his beady eyes trained mournfully at her and she smiled fondly, "Hello Fawkes."

"You know my familiar quite well, you have a bond," Albus smiled genuinely, trying to process the agonizing words his future student relayed to him. Scarlett nodded, "Fawkes and I go way back… besides, his feather resides in my wand-"

"Brother Wand to Voldemort," Albus interjected with a gasp, recalling Garrick's letter to him, decades ago, when Tom Riddle purchased his wand. … _Will wonders ever cease?_ Collecting himself, Albus uttered a question he was most curious of, "How do you know your parents' last moments?"

Scarlett's lips quirked into a grimace, "Dementors are a curious thing; they force you to relive your most painful and horrible memories. During my third year, Dementors were ordered to protect the school, stationed at the entrance," seeing Albus' eyes flicker with anger, she quickly continued, "You obviously were against it, but the bumbling fool of a Minister had overridden your claim… a story for another time. Bottom line, Dementors enjoyed feasting on my pain, like a moth to a flame."

"I see," was all Albus had been able to mutter – and he did; Scarlett obviously had a troubled and gruesome life.

"During my fourth year, the one who betrayed my parents helped Voldemort regain a corporeal form. There are many things I must tell you, but I will leave them for later. For now, I must inform you that your suspicions and speculations are correct, Headmaster. Voldemort had succeeded in immortality… he has created Horcruxes."

Albus choked, her declaration reducing him to a coughing fit; never before had he looked so disturbed before. His face paled drastically, his hands quivered violently and his eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets. " _Horcruxes_ , as in _plural_?"

"I'm afraid so… in my time he made seven-"

" _SEVEN_?"

"Yes, _seven_. However, right now, he only has five. I know where they are or where some of them will be later on, and I know how to destroy them," Scarlett smiled gently, hoping to soothe the aging Headmaster who looked as though he were about to enter cardiac arrest.

"How?"

"Headmaster, there is a reason why I was able to claim Ladyship over the Slytherin House. I defeated Voldemort in my time… the final battle of the second Wizarding World took place in Hogwarts on May 2nd, 1998 and I defeated him on the 3rd of May. Unfortunately, the losses were voluminous. So many lives lost because of one megalomaniac's tirade and crusade for power. _Nobody survived_. I am the only survivor, Headmaster and that is why I am here. The war was won, but at what cost? Your future-self updated me of every loss, and I am here to save lives and souls. With your help, we can end the war early," Scarlett spoke resolutely, each word ringing with determination.

"My dear girl. So brave. I can see now why I was very fond of you, my child. Your bravery knows no bound," Albus wiped away a tear, staring at her with pride. "Why was the final battle taken place at Hogwarts?"

"Because after you died, Voldemort took over the school. Children were held under the Cruciatus Curse as punishment, Muggleborns were imprisoned for _stealing magic_ and their _impure blood_."

Rage took over Albus' visage and only Fawkes' trill soothed his nerves. Inhaling deeply, Albus opened his eyes and Scarlett decided to continue, "We will have many opportunities to plan Tom's downfall and for us to discuss everything that took place in the future. For now, I must be sorted into Gryffindor so I can start my mission."

A worried frown puckered onto his forehead, "You will have a hard time in the House of Lions especially since you are Lady Slytherin, are you positive that is where you want to be housed, my dear?"

"What's more Slytherin than a snake hiding in the house of lions?" Scarlett smirked, eliciting hearty chuckles from the Headmaster. "Out of curiosity my dear, what house were you sorted into in your time?"

"Gryffindor," Scarlett said proudly, smiling fondly at the wizened wizard.

"Of course you were," Albus beamed with pride. "However I can see your cunning streak… in fact, you are well-suited for all four houses. Now come, it is lunchtime already, let me introduce you to the school and I will have your books and equipment delivered by tonight so you can attend classes tomorrow," he said, jovially getting onto his feet.

"Please, call me Scarlett, or Scar," Scarlett informed him sternly, prompting chuckles out of the aging Headmaster.

 _Yes, Scarlett was a godsend; with her on their side, the war would be dealt with efficiently. A load has been lifted from the Leader of the Light's shoulders..._

 **A/N: ****How do you like my latest story? I will be updating this regularly (along with my other stories for those that are waiting for them to be updated – worry not, I will not be abandoning ANY of them).**

 **This story will be VERY different from the other going to the future fics, and I do hope you enjoy it. I will be waiting for your reviews on whether or not I continue this story before updating the next chapter.**

 **How do you think the Marauders, Gryffindors and Slytherins will take having Lady Slytherin sorted into the House of Lions? Dum dum dummmm…. XD**

 **R &R.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **A/N:** ** _**Bold Italic**:: **Flashbacks.**_**

 **Chapter 2:** **Meeting the Marauders:**

 **I** n 1998, while Scarlett Sage Potter worked diligently in concocting the intricate Destiny of Time Potion, she resolved on a tough and immeasurably heart-breaking conclusion. Scar could not allow herself to build any form of relationships with those in the past, _especially_ her loved ones. She could not tie herself to meaningless relationships she always dreamed of having with her parents, godfather and honorary uncle, simply because they would be an utter distraction from her final goal and future-changing mission.

Suspicions would arise whenever she disappeared to destroy the horcruxes and roamed outside the castle walls for various reasons. Warnings and crude insults would be inevitable what with her plan to befriend those from Dark families in the hopes of saving their souls. Bigotry and animosity was inescapable once Lady Slytherin arrived in their midst.

Scar would not permit herself to get hurt by the bigoted Gryffindors who all her loved ones happened to be sorted in; the Sirius and Remus of her time had suffered isolation, hardships, loss and cruelty, opening their eyes to the cruel world that lay beyond House rivalry and realizing the absurdity of the bigotry they tightly held on to. With Peter Pettigrew, a Gryffindor and supposedly loyal friend and Marauder turning out to be a Death Eater, spy and traitor, their eyes were opened to the harsh reality that not only Slytherins were Death Eaters. However, past Sirius and Remus had no qualms of such variable beliefs.

Any means of creating a friendship with the Marauders were dispelled, for if Scarlett were to succeed, she would need to keep her distance and not get close with anyone lest she got sidetracked. Besides, with her inevitable death looming on the horizon once her mission was complete and hopefully, a success, Scar would be able to die serenely, knowing that the sting of her loss would be of no consequence to anyone, except perhaps Dumbledore, but he at least would respect her decision.

And so, as Scarlett Sage _Emrys-Slytherin_ dutifully followed the Headmaster into the Great Hall, she donned the cold exterior she had so famously exhausted and deftly created under the innumerable torture sessions she had suffered from Voldemort and his merry band of followers.

Countless heads swiveled over to their direction, and Dumbledore calmly placed a supportive hand on her shoulder, his other hand spread out in a welcoming and grand gesture, "I would like to announce our new exchange student. I request all of you to bid her feel welcome. Lady Scarlett Emrys-Slytherin as you all know decided to attend Hogwarts, the renowned school her ancestor tirelessly helped to create, and she will be beginning her sixth year."

Mutterings spread out like wildfire all around the hall. The professors seated on the Head Table leaned forward in undeniable curiosity, and every student began examining her, wondering her worth, while some groaned at having THE 'sneaky' Slytherin in their midst.

"Lady Emrys-Slytherin was permitted a private sorting in my office, and the Hat has chosen to sort her in Gryffindor-" the Headmaster was unable to continue onward with his speech due to the tumultuous uproar and paramount reactions his words generated.

The Slytherin table began hissing and booing quite boisterously, glaring at Scar in distaste and unimaginable shock as though she had personally betrayed them; they all firmly believed that the Lady Slytherin would obviously be sorted into the house of her ancestor. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were mostly subdued, but neither could deny that every face had a gaping and wide-eyed disposition at the surprising event that unfolded. The Gryffindor Table however, had the most rowdy and hostile reaction; it was an instant uproar, denying her welcome into the House of Lions, mistrust spread and crude words were traded with their neighbors.

Professor Minerva McGonagall was astounded; her mouth held agape and her elbow obliviously plunged in her plate as she stared bewilderly at both the Headmaster and Lady Emrys-Slytherin, while Professor Horace Slughorn looked deeply forlorn over the fact that his house missed out on a significantly vital and illustriously prominent member.

Purple firecrackers emanated from the Headmaster's wand, his usual jovial face and twinkling eyes morphed into anger and disappointment. "I _urge_ you to welcome Lady Emrys-Slytherin as a peer and I do hope friendships blossom." He then looked down at Scar, his beard twitching slightly and she had to mask her amusement, knowing that the old codger was deeply enjoying the uproar she had caused, "Would you like to say a few words?"

There was a great deal Scar knew she could say, but the time for eliminating bigotry and house rivalry, and for changing outcomes were for later. Now, Scar would deeply enjoy what she had provoked and she audibly cleared her throat, creating an instant hush around the hall. "I propose you take a picture, since it would last longer. I'm not some rare creature behind bars you can all gawk at. Thank you, Headmaster," she smiled saccharinely.

As Scar sauntered over to the Gryffindor table, she did not fail in witnessing the cheeky and mischievous wink Albus parted her with. Ignoring the hostile glares she was on the receiving end of, Scar graciously sat down in the middle of the table and wasted no time in piling servings onto her plate.

This was the first time in a year that Scar would be able to consume edible and a healthy amount of sustenance, and she knew that her metabolism had decreased considerably, but she needed to gain weight as she was unnaturally skinny and gaunt, detrimental to her mission.

Relishing in the exceedingly missed tang of poultry, a pang of guilt struck as she recalled a fond memory; whilst on the run, Ron, Hermione and herself forced themselves to devour bitter leaves and barely edible dried mushrooms to survive throughout the months, however, they got lucky one night when they broke into a farm and consumed eggs and cheese. Ron and Hermione died without enjoying a last meal of edible food, and guilt plagued her thoughts.

She was shook off from her reverie when a voice intruded into her hearing and she glanced up, forcibly stopping herself from recoiling in shock when she found herself facing the hauntingly familiar emerald green eyes of her mother, Lily Evans.

Straight red hair, probably four shades lighter than her crimson; heart-shaped face with a pale complexion, a button nose and almond-shaped emerald-green eyes, petal-shaped lips, round cheeks and chin, and a kind disposition.

 ** _**"Have mercy. Please, not Scarlett. Take me instead!"_**

 ** _"_** ** _Step aside!"_**

 ** _"_** ** _Not Scarlett, please, I beg you, not Scarlett!"**_**

"Hi, my name is Lily," she smiled kindly, once again disturbing her from the morbid thoughts that continuously consumed her. Scarlett rearranged her features, she would not allow herself to break, she had to create distance and definitely not form a friendship with her _dead_ mother. But before Scar could politely return her greeting and brusquely end a conversation from occurring, a loud voice interrupted.

"Oi, Evans. She's a snake, don't talk to her!" Snapping her head up, the familiar voice awoke another memory she had buried deep within her Occlumency shield.

 ** _**"Lily, it's him. Take Scar and go. I'll hold him off!"**_**

Round masculine features with identical patriarch nose and prominent cheekbones. He had round, hazel eyes behind square-shaped glasses and messy black hair that would never be tamed. He had the air of leadership and arrogance, and the eyes that she knew usually shone with mirth and mischief, were focused on her with hate, disgust and an unhealthy dose of mistrust.

"And you are?" Scar drawled, feigning callousness and ignorance.

"James Potter," he retorted, yet the stance of pride and honor was undeniable; being the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter and a renowned Light Family filled her adolescent father with immense pride.

"Pleasure," she brusquely spat out, reflecting anything _but_ pleasure. Scar hated to act so rude and callous, so haughty and impassive, but this _was_ her plan, a plan that the future Albus Dumbledore vehemently disagreed with, but _grudgingly_ gave her his blessing after admitting its merit.

Her damaged eyes flickered over her surroundings, inwardly berating herself for having sat nearby Lily and the Marauders unnoticed, she knew better than that. Sirius Black sat to James Potter's right in a sense of belonging; he had dark midnight hair, darker than James' raven, that artistically fell around his face and eyes, which were a deep, silvery grey that compulsorily enticed. His jaw was angled, as were the sharp edges of his cheekbones. He had the air of aristocratic elegance without even trying, and a distinctive air about him that made him feel almost unapproachable and out of anyone's league.

It was a far cry from the Sirius Black she had left behind, lost in the murky deep abyss and unknown of the Veil of Death who was so pale, gaunt, skeletal and ragged. Eyes lost their silvery allure, to be replaced by all the ghosts and mistakes that haunted him. Burdened by over a decade of residency in Azkaban and the torturous suffering under the poisonous effects of the Dementors; the woeful and utterly hopeless yet hapless demeanor.

 ** _**"Sirius, he hurt me, W-Wormt-Wormtail, h-he hurt me so much! Are you, are you repulsed by me?" tears flooded down recently destroyed emerald gems, and Sirius' hollowed eyes stared down at her in disbelief as he grabbed her in a tight yet affectionate hug._**

 ** _"_** ** _Never! You are my goddaughter, my own. Scar, no matter what, I can_** **never, ever** ** _hate you. I love you, Scarlett, more than words can describe."**_**

Those haunted eyes that never failed to look at her with unmistakable love and affection, were now replaced by silvery grey orbs that glared at her with malice, and Scar locked all desolateness in her shield, keeping her deft mask firmly in place as she turned over to the next Marauder that, unfortunately, sat beside her.

Remus Lupin.

Free from the infinite strands of grey hair and innumerable scars that claimed his handsome facial features, he looked more carefree, happier and Scar knew the reason was because he felt no loss and the bitter experience of isolation, living afar as the monster he so believed himself to be for twelve miserable years. Although there was no Wolfsbane to help reduce the excruciating pain of turning every full moon, Remus' weary disposition was squashed. Amber eyes regarding her with distrust, sandy blonde hair neatly brushed and a much younger visage.

 ** _**"It's a boy! Dora gave birth to a boy, and-, Scar, I would be honored if you would take the role as Teddy's godmother. I trust no one but you."**_**

Regrettably, her emotionless mask could only be held for so long, staring at the last Marauder really tested her limits, and she drastically failed as a harsh sneer curled onto her lips, eyes glaring at the short, pudgy adolescent with malice. Peter Pettigrew looked as despicable as he did in the future; watery blue eyes, stringy mousy brown hair and an upturned nose that incredibly resembled his animagus form. He was short, yet not blading and lacked the grey patches of skin from living twelve years as a rat. But one would have to be blind to not see him bear a resemblance to the rat he really was.

 ** _**"Oh, poor little Scarlett. I am going to enjoy violating you in ways my Lord cannot! Let Sirius despair in his inability to protect you. Let James and Lily weep as they watch me defile you!" the distinguishing voice cooed from her side, multiple wheezing puffs of breath hitting her bare back._**

 ** _"_** ** _Why! Why would you do this? They were your best friends! They loved you!"_**

 ** _"_** ** _James and Sirius were everything I wasn't, they had_** **everything** ** _, and you will suffer for that!"_**

 ** _"_** ** _STOP IT! PLEASE STOP!"**_**

Hands clenched enough to draw blood from under the table as she disconnected eye contact and stared down at her plate, inhaling and exhaling lowly. Once her head snapped back up, they could all visibly see a cold emotionless face glaring at each one of them.

"Can I help you, Mr. Potter?" she bit back, hoping to finish her meal in peace and leave the premises.

"You don't belong in our house!" Sirius interjected, glaring at her with distrust.

A smirk pronounced itself onto her visage, "Funny, Mr. Black. Many would say the same applied to you, don't you think? I mean, you _are_ the only Black not to get sorted into Slytherin." Sirius paled slightly and James glared at her with so much hate, it should be illegal.

"You know, for someone who just started off at Hogwarts and entered the country, you know too much," Remus said in clipped tones.

"On the contrary, Mr. Lupin, I make it my business to know where everyone was sorted into. I mean, my ancestor, Salazar Slytherin _did_ help create this school. Did you honestly expect me to march in here unprepared," she sneered, feeling guilt worm its way into her heart when Remus recoiled. "Now, Potter, Black, what exactly is your beef with me? I tire from the misplaced distrust directed at my person."

" _Misplaced_? You're a snake! A sneaky Slytherin; there is _no_ misplaced distrust, we do NOT trust you!" James growled, and many heads bobbed in mutual agreement from the Gryffindor table.

"What are you? A Death Eater sent to spy on us? Because there is no way a Slytherin could get sorted into Gryffindor," Sirius snarled with such loathing.

It pained Scar to have her godfather stare at her and speak to her with such malice. James Potter, she had the misfortune of never familiarizing herself with her late father, but Sirius, the man who escaped prison for her, the man who swore to protect her, the man who risked Dementors and the Dementor's Kiss for her, and the man who died protecting her… it deeply aggrieved her and Scar could have sworn she heard the unmistakable sound of her heart shattering into pieces.

But then, a memory introduced itself to her… a memory of Dumbledore's portrait before she imbibed the potion; _**_ _ **"**_ _ **Remember my dear Scar, your parents, Sirius and Remus are young, they do not know you. Foul language will inevitably be traded. There will be insults, mistrust and hatred thrown at you. Always remember that they are NOT your parents or your godfather or your uncle, they are adolescents and you are naught but a stranger to them."****_

These people, they are not her parents, her godfather or her uncle. They are strangers to her, and Scar would not allow their words to wound her. Fixing her posture into one of complete indifference, Scar flashed them a smirk. Now was the perfect opportunity to say her part.

"So, in your words, ALL Slytherins are evil, am I correct in my assumption?" Scar innocently inquired.

" _Yes_!" reverberated from many Gryffindors, but none were louder than James and Sirius as they glared at her with determination, their voices never wavering.

 _Hook, line, and sinker._

"So, Mr. Black," Scar focused her ruined eyes on Sirius and she noticed how his nose turned up in disgust as he examined her eye coloring. "Your favored uncle, Alphard, and beloved cousin, Andromeda who, might I add, married a _Muggleborn_ , in your words, they too, are evil, hmm?"

Flabbergasted, Sirius' visage dropped a one-eighty, and his eyes bulged out, threatening to explode as his mouth opened and closed like a fish. Scar made sure her voice was loud enough to be heard, and from the peripheral of her vision, she took note in how not only Gryffindors were drawn to their conversation/argument, shamelessly eavesdropping.

"Wha-, No! _No_ , they are NOT evil-"

"But in your _oh so_ sagacious words, you implied and resolutely informed me that ALL Slytherin's are evil," Scar spoke in a sickly sweet voice and inwardly, she reveled in being the person to cause Sirius to lose all composure as he banged both fists on the table and harshly spat out, " _They_ are the exception!"

"Oh, okay," Scar feigned confusion and bit her lip before cheering up and settling her eyes on James, who tried his hardest not to squirm in his seat. "Mr. Potter, I have heard the most _wonderful_ things about your mother, Lady Dorea Potter, née Black. She _was_ sorted in Slytherin in her youth, wasn't she, or am I mistaken?"

Silence traveled throughout the Gryffindor table as numerous agape stares focused their whole attention on the gaping and stuttering, arrogant James Potter who, for the first time, lost all confidence, "Y-Y, Ye-, Yes, my mother was a Slytherin."

"And yet, your father, Charlus Potter, a _Gryffindor_ , might I add, was deeply enamored, fell in love and proceeded to ask for her hand in marriage, a… _Slytherin_ ," her voice twisted in victory and crudeness as she verbalized her words coherently. James was reduced to a spluttering mess, and she took note the look of utter glee on Lily's face as she stared at him with amusement.

She whipped around abruptly to face the three silent seventh year Gryffindors, "You, Mr. Longbottom, your grandmother, Callidora Black was a Slytherin when she married Harfang Longbottom, and _you two_ ," her eyes flickered over to Fabian and Gideon Prewett and she ignored the grief that filled her upon noticing their deep resemblance to Fred and George. "Your mother, Lucretia _Black_ was a _Slytherin_ , was she not?"

"Uh, yes," Gideon gulped.

Fabian swallowed loudly, eyes traveling to the many pairs of eyes that penetrated him, "Yes, our mother was sorted in Slytherin."

"Wonderful!" She clapped her hands together in fake cheer, "And forgive me if I am mistaken, but your older sister, Molly Prewett married Arthur Weasley, correct?" She received two unified nods in return, "Arthur Weasley who works in the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of _Muggle_ Artifacts Office, son of Septimus Weasley and Cedrella _Black_ who was ALSO sorted in _Slytherin_."

Taking a sip of water, she parched her dry throat and a Cheshire grin erupted on her face as she focused her attention back onto a gobsmacked James Potter and Sirius Black, "Head Auror, Alastor Moody, war veteran, responsible for filling most of the cells in Azkaban with Death Eaters and wrongdoers, he was a Slytherin as well. It's funny how there seems to be many _exceptions_ to the rule, don't you think?"

"Now listen here," James prefaced, only to flinch when he was harshly interrupted by Scar once more.

"NO! _You_ listen here, James Potter. Your bigotry, _all of you_ -" her eyes roamed over the Gryffindor table, "-it ends NOW! This whole, Slytherins are evil and slimy Death Eaters tirade, did you not think, just for one second, that you alienating them, calling them names and bullying them, MADE them turn to the Dark Side? You aren't as innocent as you think; you are ALL equally responsible for their fates. I am Lady Emrys- _Slytherin_ , and this bigotry towards my ancestor's house stops this instant. I will not allow this name-calling to continue. You're all worse than those spouting political propaganda that's spreading amongst the pureblood societies. You are no worse than Voldemort, the only difference, like they are biased towards Muggles and Muggleborns, you're biased towards Slytherins. You're ALL hypocrites and should be _ashamed_ of yourselves."

Scar's speech succeeded in rendering the entire Great Hall speechless, every single face gaping at her in horror and equal astonishment. The weight of her words had them all thunderstruck.

"And on that happy note," Scar stood up from her seat barely sparing eye contact with anyone, but for Dumbledore who was immensely amused, his eyes twinkling merrily in her direction. "I seem to have _lost_ my appetite. Thank you Gryffindors, for the warm welcome, you are a credit to Godric Gryffindor. We should do this again."

The Slytherins watched as the mysterious and confident Lady walked out of the Great Hall with her shoulders squared and her head held high, each one of them pondering her biting words, shocked into a stiffening stupor at the first person to have ever defended them against the stubborn mass.

But it was irrefutable; the arrival of Lady Scarlett Sage Emrys-Slytherin meant many things, but one thing was vividly clear, changes will be made in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 **A** fter her long winding and brave speech, Scar made her way over to the empty Gryffindor Common Room and settled into the dormitory she would unfortunately be sharing with her mother and friends. She isolated her bed to the side, far away from the other four beds that were closely arranged together and sunk onto her bed.

Ever since her arrival into the past, she was denied her solitude, and now that she had time for herself, she could finally withdraw the possessions that journeyed alongside her to the past.

Slowly, almost reverently, Scar took out the small beaded bag, which previously belonged to her best friend, Hermione Granger, and she allowed the tears to fall. She vividly recalled filching it from Hermione's bloody and mangled corpse after the battle had ended, and it was smeared with crimson, Hermione's blood.

Flicking her wand, she siphoned the last remnants of blood and sobbed heartily; Hermione was bested by Bellatrix Lestrange.

 ** _**"Scarlett Potter, is DEAD!" Voldemort bellowed in triumphant glee._**

 ** _"_** ** _NO! SCAR! NO!" Scar heard the familiar voice of Hermione scream in unmistakable agonizing pain, but she had to continue feigning death to destroy Voldemort once and for all.**_**

Sadly, that was the last she heard of her best friend, her _sister_ , the person that never betrayed her and stuck to her side through thick and thin. She was not fast enough to save Hermione as she was twitched uncontrollably and sporadically under the powerful Cruciatus Curse, Bellatrix' insane cackle reverberating in her ear before she finally swished her wand horizontally, deeply slicing Hermione's throat, her face frozen mid-scream, her eyes watering with horror and agony as she took her final gurgled breath.

Shaking her head from those morose thoughts, Scar wiped her tears and determinedly stared at the last possession left behind by her sister; Hermione Granger will live. 1979, she _will_ be born and will grow to be loved by her parents, not forced to obliviate them of her memory due to Voldemort's reign of power. Hermione will be blessed with a long and happy life, and hopefully, will once again find love in Ron without her interference, if Scar had anything to say about it.

She slowly opened the spelled beaded bag that aided them well in their year-long run and plunged her hand inside, searching for a specific, treasured and cherished memento that traveled alongside her to the past, unable to leave the certain trinket behind.

Taking out the engraved wooden box, Scar carefully opened it, a rivulet of tears cascading down her face when the diamond winked back at her, almost tantalizing her, taunting her with his death.

Once Scar collected the remaining memories Severus Snape pleadingly insisted her into taking in his last dying moment, she was blockaded from rushing into the Headmaster's deserted office and viewing the memories in the pensieve when she noted the congregated flaming hair of Weasleys crying over a fallen figure.

Fred… her Freddie, the love of her life and amorous boyfriend, prankster and mischief-maker extraordinaire who took pride in awakening the memory of the late Marauders, stared at the ceiling with deadened eyes, the ghost of a smile lingering on his face; trust Fred to die smiling till the very end. At that moment, Scar lost it. She couldn't handle losing the second love she had ever drowned into, risked giving herself fully to another person… she was cursed to watch her lovers drop like flies.

She forgot that she was currently in the middle of a war with precious little time, that she had a Dark Lord to end who was awaiting her arrival in the depths of the Forbidden Forest, that she was trusted to observe the memories of a Death Eater who killed her mentor. All noise drowned out and all thoughts dissolved as she padded slowly and silently until she stood before her fallen lover, and she completely lost it.

It took the joint efforts of Bill and Charlie Weasley to untangle her arms from Fred's corpse, and she finally released him to embrace his twin in a sorrowful embrace, knowing that Fred's other half would comprehend every painstaking emotion that was rushing throughout her in waves.

 ** _**"Scar, Fr-Fred, he-he, he wanted to give you this if he d-didn't make it," George cried out in grievous breaths._**

 ** _"_** ** _George wha-, what is this, why did Fred have a ring in his possession, wh-why?" she was in denial, she knew she was, not wanting to be faced with the opportunity that was forevermore lost to her with Fred's death._**

 ** _"_** ** _I'm so sorry, Scar. He was planning on, on pr-proposing once the war was over."_**

 ** _"_** ** _No, no, Fred! Freddie, don't leave me, p-please! You promised! You promised!" Scar cried out, wracking sobs filling her body as she knelt over her boyfriend's corpse.**_**

Scar stared desolately at the petite solitaire engagement ring and conjured a thick platinum necklace, before reverently adding the ring to it and clasping it tightly around her neck. She placed many charms on it, determined to never lose the last piece of Fred Weasley, the last piece of his heart and the trinket that displayed his never-ending and unwavering love to her. Scar would cherish the ring for all of eternity, or at least until her last dying breath where she would be reunited with her love in the celestial plane.

If he's even there, now that she was changing the future…

Fred was the first Weasley to fall in the battle… when the final battle commenced after Voldemort forced Hagrid to carry her 'dead' body to the remaining brave warriors in the dilapidated castle, the rest followed.

Charlie and Percy were crushed to death under the ruins of the Great Hall when Rodolphus Lestrange blasted the ceiling onto them… then Bill, brave William, the first son of Arthur and Molly who was currently six-years-old in this timeline – Bill was finished by Fenrir Greyback who had bitten him the year prior in his human form, tore him to shreds… Fleur Weasley, Bill's wife of barely a year was devastated at the sight of her beloved's last remains and in her shocked stupor, joined him by being mauled to death by said werewolf. …George and Ron fought bravely, hatred in their eyes as they dueled both Yaxley and Mulciber, Fred's killer, but they didn't make it, quick and clean with the Killing Curse, they dropped like puppets with their strings cut off… Arthur was tortured to insanity by Rabastan Lestrange before ending his agony with the Killing Curse… and lastly, Molly, brave Molly Weasley, her mother-figure, drove mad with grief at the sight of her daughter's mangled corpse, killed by Voldemort after ending the insanity of Bellatrix Lestrange…

Scar was interrupted from her maudlin reminiscing as the dormitory door opened and Lily walked in, followed closely by three girls.

"Oh, hi. We didn't get to talk much in the Great Hall," Lily chirped happily, a huge contrast to Scar's current emotions and she couldn't help but inwardly wince. "I'm Lily Evans, and these are my best friends, Dorcas Meadowes, Marlene McKinnon and Alice Prewett."

Alice Prewett; Scar passed by her quickly, unable to focus on the glaringly familiar features of her god-brother, Neville who suffered until his very last breath. She had soft brown wavy hair that brushed against her shoulder-blades, large chocolate brown eyes that Neville inherited and a soft round face with rosy cheeks. Her smile was gentle and kind and Scar knew that although Neville grew up without a mother, he inherited his docile and tender disposition from Alice.

Marlene McKinnon on the other hand was unfamiliar to her, but the name jolted a memory from deep within, a memory of the first time she met Hagrid on her eleventh birthday.

 ** _**"No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age – the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts – an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."**_**

Marlene looked like a Southern Belle beauty with her long locks of golden hair, tanned complexion and sparkling sapphire blue eyes. She had a straight-sloped nose, round cheeks, angled chin and plump rosy lips. Her body was slim and toned, and Scar knew that this girl had many men reeling in lust and girls glaring in envy.

But Dorcas Meadows on the other hand; _**_ _ **"…**_ _ **That's Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally…"****_ Alastor Moody's voice reverberated in her head, and she vividly recalled her fate, because it personally struck her with guilt and anger; this girl, this witch, she too, had faced the other end of Voldemort's wand, and yet, only Scar was lucky enough to live past those two macabre words at the mere age of one.

Dorcas had a sweet yet stern disposition radiating from her person; she had straight ebony hair styled in a bob cut with a fringe, identical onyx eyes and an olive complexion with round curves and thin lips. Although she differed vastly from the redhead, the brunette, and the blonde, she was gorgeous in her own natural way.

"Scarlett," she nodded politely at each of them.

"You didn't get your school things?" Alice gently inquired, a soft, worried crease materializing on her forehead, and Scar felt a tug on her heartstrings. Alice was too caring, too kind; she didn't deserve her gruesome fate.

"Headmaster Dumbledore told me he'd take care of it," Scar neutrally responded with a one-shoulder shrug, shrinking and then pocketing the beaded bag before wandlessly muttering a protection spell so that no one would be able to purloin it from her person. Focusing her attention on the four girls, it was glaringly obvious that Marlene and Dorcas, like the Marauders, had their reservations about her and unlike their two friends, didn't trust her whatsoever.

Sighing at their anticipated reactions, Scar rubbed her temples before leveling each girl with a piercing gaze, "Look, let me put your mind at ease, I'm not some Death Eater wannabe." To prove her point, she lifted her left sleeve, showcasing the unblemished inner forearm, except for the angry yet deep gash Wormtail gave her as a souvenir when he forcibly took blood for the ritual. Four pairs of eyes widened at the gash, before their eyes trailed onto the vivid phoenix tattoo of Fawkes inked on her inner wrist, and although Scar could hear their minds whirring with curious questions, she smoothly carried on, "Nor am I an avid believer of Voldemort or that claptrap he spouts regarding blood purity."

Four gasps echoed around the room, and Marlene stated in a hard tone, "You said his name. Not many are brave enough to do so."

"Yeah well, fear of a name only increases fear in the thing itself," Scar retorted, her voice a lazy drawl. "Now, not to be rude really, but I have zero interest in making friends. I am here _solely_ for the education Hogwarts provides. I would appreciate it if we can maintain a civil relationship as roommates and classmates only."

"Are you sure?" Lily asked hesitantly, her eyes glimmering with pity and Scar inwardly scoffed, swallowing the snappish retort that threatened to erupt. _She didn't need any pity._

"Yes," she answered in a clipped tone.

While displeased, Alice grudgingly nodded, "Okay."

Sighing, Scar closed the drapes around her bed and cast a silencing charm; she hadn't slept for two days and her body and mind was in desperate need of rejuvenation. Today was the first day of her mission; as Scar drifted off into Morpheus' arms, all buzzing activities of future plans were put to rest, sending her into the first dreamless sleep she had in years, devoid of any nightmares.

 **A/N: ****Whew! How did you like this chapter?**

 **Honestly I was jumpi ng in my seat like a lunatic when I wrote the part in the Great Hall where Scar argued against Slytherin bigotry.**

 **ALSO, in most of the going to the past stories I read, whether it be Harry or Hermione, I always noticed how they befriended the Marauders and Lily, making the whole 'changing the future' thing immensely difficult. I decided to do things differently… although it is hard for Scar, in order to succeed without anyone butting into her business and then dying in peace in the end (according to her plan) it will be hard for her to have James, Sirius, Remus, Lily and whoever breathing down her neck.**

 **Besides, how can Scar befriend Slytherins and save their souls if the Gryffindors berate her constantly for it… if you get my gist. So, I decided on a different outcome where Scar dons the cold mask she perfected during the war and keeps a distance from her loved ones.**

 **I would appreciate reading your reviews on this chapter and my ideas please... And also, which Slytherins and Death Eaters would you like me to save?**

 **R &R.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **A/N:** ** _**Bold Italic**:: **Flashbacks.**_**

 **Chapter 3:** **Scar's First Snake:**

 _September 3_ _rd_ _, 1976;_

 **S** car found herself awakening the next day feeling quite energized and bolstered, a first for the worn-out savior. She had rarely experienced an entire night of undisturbed and dreamless sleep, without the nightmares she constantly experienced in reality haunting her subconscious. In fact, even before Voldemort's creeptacular black ritual at the end of her fourth year, the redheaded, green-eyed warrior barely slept peacefully as the night her parents were murdered left a subliminal stain in her memory.

Grimacing, Scar knew the only reason for the lack of nightmares was because she had been awake for more than seventy-two hours, spending every waking moment on her mission, her paranoia prompting her to constantly check and double-check the Destiny of Time Potion in order to ensure a safe trip to the past with all the essential necessities on her person.

Opening the hangings around her four-poster bed, Scar let out a sigh of relief upon noticing her four roommates had yet to awaken from their slumber. A fond smile curled on her pouty lips when she took note of the chest filled with supplies, just as Dumbledore promised. Gathering her uniform, she stealthily tiptoed into the adjoined, communal bathroom for a well-needed, luxurious shower.

Eyeing the numerous scars that littered her body, the desolate savior snapped her eyes shut and leaned against the wall, allowing the warm water to cascade down her body like rivulets. Each scar told a different story, each scar held a meaning, a meaning that Scarlett Sage Potter prevailed all that Voldemort and his minions threw in her path, and surpassed every difficulty her Hogwarts years doled out; a meaning that Scarlett Sage Potter survived her so-called relatives' strict housing and their deep hatred toward her and the magic running through her veins. Each scar depicted a tragedy. These scars depict the long tale of her suffering and her horrible history; they informed everyone the untold horrors that Scarlett fought and survived.

Each scar was a battle wound, and Scarlett Sage Potter wore them proudly. Unlike some of her friends, she _never_ hid them behind a glamour, but allowed the world to see that Scarlett would not be easily beaten, nor would she allow herself to be cowed by those who deemed themselves superior. However, there was only one horrendous scar that Scarlett was ashamed of, a scar that spoke of a grievous calamity that tore on her heartstrings and caused her turmoil, an event that no matter how hard the savior tried, couldn't stop herself from reliving on a constant basis, almost as though it were on replay.

There was only _one_ scar that she applied a glamor on every day, a scar she resolutely tried aimlessly to ignore, but the constant burn on her lower back never allowed her to forget.

Donning her school uniform, Scar confidently sauntered into the room, nodding respectfully at the four bleary-eyed girls who had awoken, smothering their yawns and trudging sleepily into the bathroom, and approached her trunk.

Sitting down on her bed, she placed the moleskin pouch that Hagrid gifted her with on her seventeenth birthday in the Weasleys backyard, around her neck and stuffed Hermione's beaded bag into the inner pocket of her skirt she magically created. No matter what, Scar couldn't separate her prized possessions from her person, they held too much meaning to her, and she felt whole with them nearby, even though she knew without a doubt that nobody could enter her trunk since she locked it in parseltongue.

"Hey, um, Scarlett," Lily hesitantly called out from behind as she went to leave. "If you want I can show you the way to the Great Hall, I just need to get dressed."

Keeping her back to her moth- no, _Lily Evans_ , she swiveled her neck to face her and shot her a polite smile, "No, thank you. I remember the way. I do however, appreciate the thought."

The Great Hall was bustling with activity and Scar made sure to seat herself at the end of the Gryffindor table, not wanting to have a repetition of the other day and be assembled closely with those she came back to save. While Scar nibbled on toast, her eyes roamed around the paramount of students, not used to there being too many children at Hogwarts.

The First War created by Voldemort must have done a number on the future. Many wizarding families were demolished by the Dark Lord's tirade; when she first entered Hogwarts, there wasn't even _half_ the amount of students attending as in the past today, and Scars mouth set in a grim, yet determined line. She had her work cut out for her… there were too many that needed saving for a fruitful future.

"Oi! Evans! How about you come sit beside me," James cheekily called out as Lily, Alice, Dorcas and Marlene entered the Great Hall.

Lily glared at him. "I'd rather drink bubotuber pus then sit anywhere near you, Potter!" she retorted harshly. Much to Scar's distress, the redhead made a beeline toward her with her friends close behind. Lily shot her a sheepish look. "Do you mind if we sit here? Potter hates you, so he'll keep his distance and not bother me…"she trailed off unsurely.

Scar managed to abruptly stop herself from flinching violently at Lily's blunt admission. He wasn't her father… this was an adolescent James Potter who had barely reached maturity and was drowning in bigotry, she shouldn't care that he hated her.

With a slow nod, Scar gestured for them to sit without a word and concentrated on finishing her plate. Sighing inwardly, a visit to Pomfrey was much needed for a package of nutrition potion. Her body was seriously underweight from her year on the run, and even more so from the Dursleys regime; it was severely unhealthy for her to continue onwards untreated.

Professor McGonagall swept alongside them, absently handing over schedules for the coming year. Taking a glimpse at her, McGonagall sternly addressed her, "Miss Emrys-Slytherin, what subjects are you taking so I can arrange your schedule?"

"Advanced Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, Arithmancy and Ancient Runes," she dutifully listed off, ignoring the eavesdroppers unsubtly listening in from around her as she kept her eyes peeled on the Head of Gryffindor, trying her hardest not to recall the horrifying death of the brave witch who defended her fiercely.

"Hmm, I may need to see your O.W.L scores to accept you into these classes," an impressed McGonagall replied, eyebrows arched.

Smiling sweetly, Scar shrugged, "I informed the Headmaster yesterday of my O.W.L results. You can take it up with him." McGonagall sent her a piercing look, studying her for a moment longer before waving her wand and neatly producing her schedule, "I just might. Miss Evans, what about you?"

Ignoring the conversation currently taking place opposite to her, Scar studied her schedule. Mondays and Wednesdays Transfiguration and Charms; Transfiguration with the Slytherins and Charms with the Ravenclaws. Also, she had Ancient Runes with every House after lunch every Monday and Friday. She had Arithmancy every Tuesday and Thursday with every House, and finally, Potions with the Slytherins and Herbology with the Hufflepuffs every Tuesday and Thursday. Double Defense Against the Dark Arts every Friday. Not bad for a schedule.

In her future, Scar deeply regretted taking Care of Magical Creatures and Divination as an elective, wishing that she had taken Ancient Runes and Arithmancy instead with Hermione. She learned her lesson the hard way during the run when they needed adept warding skills to protect themselves from the Snatchers since she was Undesirable Number One.

With Voldemort's rise once again after the Triwizard Tournament, under Umbridge's harsh terrain where she controlled the castle with a strict iron grip, Scar began spending most of her free time in the library, especially after curfew under her Invisibility Cloak, studying those two subjects meticulously, garnering deft skills in every subject and no longer allowing herself to become languid with Voldemort out there terrorizing the community, trying his darndest to kill her.

Sparing a sorrowful look at her full plate, Scar left the Great Hall and made her way over to the Transfiguration classroom. She really missed eating, enjoying the taste of scrumptiously delectable meals, unfortunately, her stomach disagreed with her wholeheartedly. Those nutrition potions were looking better and better.

Scar sat herself at the last table, keeping her distance from her classmates lest she became involved with them. It was quite a shock to see all the sixth year Gryffindors surpass into Advanced Transfiguration, she was honestly expecting the rat to have failed at least; it was unbelievable for Pettigrew to achieve an Exceeds Expectation in the O.W.L since Sirius informed her in third year that he was a 'weak, talentless thing'.

"Good morning," McGonagall sternly announced, piercing each student with a no-nonsense glare. "I am quite proud to see all my sixth year Gryffindors and Slytherins to have scored an Exceeds Expectation and Outstanding in my class. However, be warned, we have now approached difficult spellwork of the complex sort where you will be tested outside the limits of your boundaries. If you find yourself unable to keep up then I advise you quit my class. I will not tolerate foolish pranks, dilly dallying, or students talking out of turn and interrupting my lesson, especially now that you are studying for your N.E. ."

James, Sirius, Remus and Peter exchanged smug smirks, all four of them leaning leisurely in their respective seats looking completely laidback, either unnoticing or uncaring of the fact that McGonagall specifically sharpened her glare at them.

"Miss Evans, Miss Black, I want you to pass along two buttons each to your respective classmates," McGonagall ordered, and Scar couldn't help the double-take when she settled her eyes on none other than Narcissa Black, Draco's mother.

Narcissa looked proud, haughty and painstakingly gorgeous, a far cry from the woman she met during her fourth, sixth and _especially_ during the run. Golden locks tumbling down to right below her shoulder blades, porcelain skin and bright azure eyes. Gone was the stress lines permanently etched on her forehead from Voldemort's takeover of Malfoy Manor, as well as the pinched look as though there was something disgusting beneath her nostrils. She looked like a respectable pureblood that had yet to be affected by the cruel war outside the castle walls.

Scar couldn't bring herself to hate the woman; after all, Narcissa Malfoy saved her life when she survived death after Voldemort hit her with the Killing Curse for the second time. Different intentions she had, her only desire being to end the pointless war and be reunited with her son, only to be killed shortly afterwards by Voldemort himself for her deception, she owed the proud woman, the youngest daughter of Cygnus Black, a life debt. Narcissa Black was definitely on the top of her list for saving souls; she would try and convince Lucius to change sides before he graduated and hopefully spare their family.

"Now. You are all to cast non-verbal spells only, turning each button into a beetle; the fatter, the better. It is a flick and jab motion; concentrate on turning them into a beetle and inspect your results. Go on," McGonagall instructed them.

The class syllabus was completely different from the future; McGonagall must have changed her class curriculum. Nevertheless, Scar was adept in Transfiguration, a talent inherited from her father, and ever since fourth year, she became proficient in non-verbal spells, knowing that it was best to catch your enemy off guard in a duel as they would be unable to predict your next move.

Sluggishly, Scar flicked and jabbed her wand twice in rapid succession, turning both buttons into two big, fat, black beetles, garnering a loud gasp from McGonagall who had been coincidentally passing by her desk at that precise moment.

"Well done, Miss Emrys-Slytherin. Twenty points to Gryffindor," McGonagall complimented her, and Scar took note on how her jade eyes slightly lost the suspicion that presided there, instead replaced by a curious glint. "Have you mastered non-verbal spells before?"

"Yes. I was trained at a young age to cast nearly all spells non-verbally," Scar responded nonchalantly, ignoring the sullen glares from a few Slytherins and the few grudging looks of approval from the Gryffindors.

"Great, we got a highly-trained Death Eater in our midst," Sirius grumbled to James, Remus and Peter as they stormed out of class and passed her in the hallway.

"I-I, Sirius, I don't think she's a Death Eater," Peter nervously stammered .

 _Of course you'd know!_ Scar scoffed mentally, glaring daggers at the back of the rat traitor's skull.

"How would you know?" James grunted, turning around to glare at Scar from over his shoulder.

Peter nearly tripped face-first and hurriedly covered his faux-pas with a nervous laugh, "She doesn't l-l-look like o-one."

"I admit, she looks too skinny, frail and weak for a Death Eater, but that doesn't rule out that she _isn't_ one," Sirius spat out. Scar snorted derisively as she passed them. "You got a problem, Snake?" Sirius snarled, ignoring Remus's warning stare.

Although Sirius was taller, with her forehead reaching his shoulder, Scar made good work in staring him down, "No. Merely think it's funny you can't locate who the real Death Eater is around here. Word of caution, Black, not everything is as it seems, the true Death Eater may look timid and shy as opposed to loud and obnoxious and wearing a green tie."

"Takes one to know one," James retorted, glaring at her with utter revulsion.

"You're a fool, James Potter," Scar spat, eyes hardening with fury and the atmosphere around them turned chilly as her magic reacted to her anger. "Don't. You. _Ever_. Call. Me. A. Death Eater!" she snarled, each word causing her magic to flare potently and the Marauders and everyone nearby shivered, automatically taking a step back due to the lash out. Scar let out a humorous laugh, chilling the audience to their bones, "One day, you're all going to regret your words. You're _all_ going to regret your short-sightedness and bigotry. _That I promise you!_ "

Without another word, Scar whirled around and made her way over to the Ancient Runes classroom, slamming her bag on the table and taking a seat at the back, grateful that Remus was the only Marauder taking this class. Said Marauder scurried inside five minutes later, staring at her with curiosity and fear before turning his back on her and sitting beside Lily at the front.

Professor Crux had them all begin the first class with a project.

"This project will be one of many that determines whether or not you have the potential to succeed your N.E.W.T.s exam for this subject. You are all to work in pairs. Your project, list at least ten different protection runes. Then, I want you to create a strong ward that can protect you against a spell where a Shield Charm fails to do so." She then proceeded to randomly pair two students off from the class roster.

"Rabastan Lestrange, Scarlett Emrys-Slytherin."

Scar's body stiffened in response; _Rabastan Lestrange_ … one of Voldemort's most faithful and ruthless Death Eaters, extremely volatile and responsible for torturing Neville's parents into insanity, residing in Azkaban for fifteen years, awaiting for Voldemort to rise once again. The Death Eater who killed countless others in the most despicable and gruesome of ways, ending with torturing Mr. Weasley into a pile of mush and killing him… _No!_

The chair screeched slightly and before she knew it, Scar met blue-grey eyes staring avidly into her own warped ones. Azkaban didn't do Lestrange any favors, for sitting beside her was a devastatingly handsome boy, with black curls smoothly parted from his face, high cheekbones, a round chin and full lips; he had a good-humored look about him, one that contradicted greatly with the Death Eater persona. Rabastan Lestrange was so handsome girls would probably orgasm just by looking at him.

Shaking her head from those unwarranted thoughts, Scar lifted her head proudly and nodded courteously, "Mr. Lestrange. I do hope we can complete our assignment without conflict."

A smirk curled onto his lips, "Lady Emrys-Slytherin, I promise to be a gentleman in your presence."

Her eyebrows rose cynically, and she pursed her lips, "A gentleman you say? Hmm, very well. How about we meet at the library an hour before dinner?"

"Your wish, my command," Rabastan's eyes stared heatedly at her, and Scar repressed the shiver that threatened to consume her as his eyes roamed appreciatively over her face.

 **W** alking along the castle aimlessly, trying to rid herself of the future ghosts, their deaths haunting her every move and lingering heavily on her conscience, she could have sworn she heard hushed whispers from her left. Conspicuously tilting her head, Scar released her magic, allowing it to touch the direction it came from.

Their magical signatures were easily recognized; the pure light of James Potter, the dominance of Moony, the tantalizing grey energy of Sirius Black, and the tainted evil radiating heavily from Pettigrew's Dark Mark. …Of course, the Marauders were hidden under the Invisibility Cloak.

Once their excited murmurings and scuffled footsteps vanished down the hall, Scar ducked behind a pillar and into an empty classroom, casting a quick privacy charm before dipping her hand into her moleskin pouch and pulling out her beloved Map. The Marauder's Map was the second possession passed down to her by her father, and like the Invisibility Cloak, the orphaned girl fiercely protected them with her life.

There being two Marauder's Maps in this generation struck Scar as strange, but she couldn't part herself with the treasured Map intricately made by her father, godfather and honorary uncle, all three of whom spent the better half of their Hogwarts years perfecting it from its tricky enchantments to its meticulous drawings. Besides, having such a valuable item in her possession would be extremely helpful in her mission, and Scar needed all the help she could get since she was by her lonesome.

Lips parting, eyes bulging and body stiffening, Scar's hands went rigid, unable to believe how utterly dense she had been. Ruined eyes narrowed in on a certain spot on the map, focused intently on a miniscule squiggle, a caption underneath in cursive writing: _Scarlett Potter_.

Scrambling to check the Marauders' position on the map, she breathed a sigh of relief when she found them descending the dungeons, most probably planning to prank a few Slytherins. Casting a notice-me-not charm on the map, Scar wasted no time in dashing over to the Gryffindor Common Room, thankful the Invisibility Cloak never left her person ever since Dumbledore's warning the summer before sixth year.

Stealthily, Scar approached the Marauders' room, sharp eyes scoping every nook and cranny, ignoring the horrendous mess in the room, resembling a tornado had struck the premises.

" _Accio Marauder's Map_."

Nothing happened, not that Scar expected the spell to work, but it was worth a shot. She had learnt long ago that most witches and wizards took advantage of proficient spells and became ignorant toward the novice spells and what they could actually accomplish, such as the door separating the mass from Fluffy in the Forbidden Third Floor corridor locked with a simple _Alohomora_ – a first year's spell.

"Guess I'm going to have to do it the hard way," she muttered to herself, double-checking her map for a second and pleased to see the Marauders still lingering in the dungeons.

Obviously it would not be with Pettigrew, since he was a clumsy halfwit; in fact, recalling the countless tales Sirius and Remus regaled to her of their youth, it was the rat that had gotten their map confiscated in the first place, a few months before graduation. Fatuous idiotic excuse of a wizard he was, no matter what timeline she resided in.

James and Remus turned up blank. Scar purposely left Sirius' trunk last, knowing that the elder Black, no matter how much he denied his heritage and dark background, would have cast more complex spells to protect his possessions from sticky fingers. Muttering lowly and waving her wand intricately over the trunk, she sucked in a deep breath, noting two of the spells to be narrowly grey. Luckily for her, she had read about those spells in the Black Library at Grimmauld Place.

Ten minutes later, the trunk opened without a glitch and she gingerly rummaged through Sirius' trunk, lest an unwelcome prank awaited her, readying itself to pounce on her pilfering hands. Aha'ing in victory when her hand clasped the familiar parchment, she yanked it out immediately, scowling when she found her birth name glaring back at her.

" _Deleo_ Potter," the cursive script 'Potter' slowly started to vanish, the black ink seeping into her wand and leaving an empty space beside her name. " _Adtexo_ Emrys-Slytherin." Where 'Potter' used to be, 'Emrys-Slytherin' appeared, written in the identical black, cursive script.

" _Shit! Fucking shit!_ " Scar cursed lowly; the Marauders were on the move, already approaching the third floor.

Quickly, she replaced Sirius' possessions and meticulously reapplied Sirius' protection charms before obliterating her magical signature from the room. She draped the invisibility cloak over her form and departed just as the rowdy boys darted inside, laughing uproariously over some prank, just as she had predicted.

Slumping down on her bed, Scar groaned into her shaking palms. It was a close call. If she hadn't taken out her copy of the map, then she wouldn't have remembered and would have been forced to obliviate the Marauders, an action she didn't look forward to performing.

 **R** abastan Lestrange leisurely strolled into the library, flashing charming smiles and saucy winks at the few girls that had the courage to look him in the eye, flushing heavily and giggling loudly, the noise grating on the Pureblood's nerves. Although he was a Slytherin, came from a _dark_ family and was _severely_ assumed a Death Eater, eighty percent of the female population in Hogwarts continued to flirt with him with the hopes of charming him to their side and for some, their beds – even the _Mudbloods_ , much to his disgust.

Finally, his eyes sought out the mysterious Lady Emrys-Slytherin that practically appeared out of thin air into the British Community's midst. He stayed deftly hidden for a while longer watching her work on her lonesome at a leisure pace. When he first read the _Daily Prophet_ , his curiosity stirred, but when Dumbledore announced she was to be educated in the castle, his sharp eyes took note of how utterly bored and… _disinterested_ she was with all the mutterings and gossip that revolved around her and the impressiveness of the Great Hall.

Her being sorted into Gryffindor was a surprising shock and a huge blow to every member of the Slytherin house. Half the house began branding her as a blood-traitor, led vehemently by the incensed Bellatrix Black, the annoying harpy his older brother was to, unfortunately, wed. However, most of the wizards weren't bothered the slightest, especially with the two potently archaic titles she held – Gryffindor or not, they were all plotting to woo her with the hopes of courting her and branding themselves as the future Lord Emrys-Slytherin.

Rabastan was conflicted though; unlike Rod, their parents preferred giving him leeway, trusting him to choose a respectable pureblood witch to marry after graduation instead of binding him to a marriage contract from birth.

It came as a pleasant surprise when Professor Crux assigned him as Lady Emrys-Slytherin's partner in Ancient Runes, and for the very first time, Rabastan found himself experiencing being in the vicinity of an attractive woman who was utterly indifferent to his prestige title, family and riches, and unaffected by his impeccable good looks and charm.

"Lady Emrys-Slytherin," Rabastan smirked, pulling the chair opposite to her and lounging gracefully.

Unique eyes flickered from the book she was grossly absorbed in to study him intently, "Mr. Lestrange, I see you have finally decided to join me instead of inspecting me from afar."

Rabastan deftly kept his face blank, though inwardly, he was shell-shocked and immensely impressed. Not once had he taken his eyes off her person, and her eyes stayed stubbornly fixated on her book. How on earth did she notice him from where he was adroitly hidden?

"Did I pass the test or something?" she mused, snapping the book shut and staring at him guardedly, though a spark of amusement flashed too quick for anyone with slow senses to perceive.

She was a goddess; no other word could define such outstanding beauty. Crimson colored hair, the peculiar shade of blood, one he had never seen before, naturally styled in ringlets, too coiled to be normal; slightly tanned, more olive-toned yet of perfection with aristocratic and sharp features; soft plump lips that looked utterly delectable that he yearned to taste. But those eyes, her eyes were a complete mystery to him; round doe-eyed, more of an almond shape filled with emerald green, the exact hue of the brightest emerald gem, yet surrounded by a thick ring of white, and then locked tightly in a circle by a thin ring of violet. Unique they may be, yet unnatural. None were born with such sheen, and the Slytherin Casanova found his curiosity stirred.

Gorgeously flawless, yet littered in scars; this Lady was no mere Lady. No, perchance a warrior, especially the crudely shaped scar on her forehead that looked gruesomely painful.

"Perhaps, my Lady," he muttered, concentrating on the matter in hand.

Huffing, she stared at him with solemn eyes, "Okay, none of this my Lady business. Too informal," she wrinkled her nose adorably. "Forget I'm a Lady and just treat me like a regular classmate from the House of Lions."

"Your wish, my command, Emrys-Slytherin," Rabastan smirked, parroting his previous words.

Surprisingly, there was no conflict between them as they began debating over the best protection runes for their assignment.

"I understand that you may have a wider span of knowledge since you're part of a dark family," Emrys-Slytherin absently blurted out, comparing runes from two different books to each other.

"Does that bother you?" Rabastan asked before he could stop himself, his fists clenching and unclenching as he glared at the girl opposite to him. She looked utterly bewildered by his question.

Startled, she retorted, "There is no Light and Dark magic, Lestrange. There is _no_ power either. Magic is pure, ambient and potent; magic is all about intent and how _you_ use it. Some wizards and witches classify themselves as Dark, Grey and Light. I, on the other hand, classify it all to be bullshit; you are either good or evil."

Rabastan found himself baffled with the little witch. The moment the words 'there is no light and dark' spilled from her lips, he honestly thought she would spout off the Dark Lord's citation, claiming there to be only power. Yet he couldn't have been more wrong. Settling himself comfortably into his chair and crossing his arms, he paid the curious witch his utmost attention as she carried on with her ranter.

"Take the very first spell taught in the initial practical Charms class; _Wingardium Leviosa_ , the levitation spell. I can levitate a feather into the air, which is a good form of entertainment. _But_ , I can also levitate you right off a cliff; now _that_ is evil. _Diffindo_ , the severing charm; it can be used for slicing ingredients for potions or cooking, or unbinding ropes as an example, that is good. _Or_ I can use it to slice your jugular; again, _that_ is bad. All this dark magic, light magic, it's all labels, poorly accused labels meant to make those feel superior or inherently good, marking their inner compass firmly on good or bad. Magic is all about intent."

Silence met the end of her speech. Complete and utter _silence_.

For the very first time, Rabastan was rendered speechless by a woman, a feat in and of itself.

Shifting unsurely in his seat and clearing his throat, he filled the shocked silence that shrouded their table, "So why then did you brand my family as 'Dark'?"

Emrys-Slytherin smirked, eyes sparkling with mischief and an indistinguishable emotion. "Some families prefer to lean toward casting spells with darker intent, or lighter intent. Some families let out an aura of their preferred practice in magic. Some families enjoy dabbling in the forbidden material that predates archaic times," she shrugged noncommittally. "Merlin dabbled in everything, dark, grey, light. Even black magic, those that today, are volatile and forbidden; and yet, he is known as one of the greatest and lightest wizards of all time. Why? Because he practiced and used such spells with _good_ intent, no matter how dark said spell was."

Rabastan opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of the water, before he finally spluttering, "You're incredible. I-I have _never_ heard anyone define magic and all the prejudiced bigotry in such simple terms."

"I try," she shrugged modestly, for once flashing him a genuine smile.

Deciding to process her words once he was safely ensconced in the privacy of his dormitory, he began searching for _Protection-Runes of the Dark_ by A. Higgs. Locating it on the ground near Emrys-Slytherin, he went to stand and grab it, but she beat him to it, gently passing it to him.

Quick as a flash, her hands balled into a fist and her body started to vibrate softly. Her eyes widened in pain and fear and she wound an arm around her stomach in a protective stance.

"Emrys-Slytherin, are you alright?" he frowned, brows knitting together in perplexity.

"Ye-Yeah, I'm, I'm fine," she smiled, but it was strained and so obviously forced. Hurriedly grabbing her books, she stood upright, toppling her seat over in the process. "How about we continue tomor- _NGH_!"

"Scarlett!" Rabastan rushed over to her side as her books splattered onto the ground, her body hunched over and eyes squinting in excruciating pain as moans of agony escaped her lips and her shoulders shuddered jarringly.

Batting his hands away, she grabbed her books from his hand and muttered a quick 'thank you' before departing as though the library was on fire.

Rabastan Lestrange stood frozen in place, eyes never leaving the last spot he had seen her.

He was not daft, and like Emrys-Slytherin announced, he did come from a dark family, therefore, he was no stranger to dark spells, and he knew, without a doubt, that Emrys-Slytherin was experiencing the aftereffects of being under the Cruciatus Curse for too long.

Question is, who would dare torture a Lady from the Noble and Most Ancient Houses of Emrys and Slytherin, two archaic and powerful bloodlines that were thought to have died out and had potent magical blood running through their veins.

Who was Lady Emrys-Slytherin exactly? And why would _anyone_ torture her quite viciously?

Rabastan Lestrange was cursed with the affinity and horrible habit of being too curious for his own good, and he would not rest until he held the answers to the puzzling enigma.

 **A/N: ****How did you like this chapter?**

 **I won't be rushing this story, immediately jumping to destroying horcruxes and killing Voldemort. Scar's mission is more complex, she needs to be patient and build a reputation, changing people and their bigoted ideology. Besides, she's still in her sixth year, there is no need to rush ahead.**

 **In most of the time-traveling to Marauders' time fics, I have almost ALWAYS seen the first Slytherin the time-traveler befriended to be Severus Snape… I decided to mix things up and CHANGE the regular cliché.**

 **How did you like Rabastan? Did you enjoy his first scene? Did you like how I portrayed him?**

 **I fervently believe that no one is born evil (Except maybe Bellatrix – I mean, batshit crazy), so I don't see all the Slytherins being cruel immediately, merely bigoted and misunderstood with a god complex (or is it Pureblood complex … whatever, LOL)**

 **Let me know your opinion about this chapter! XD**

 **R &R.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: ****All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **A/N:** ** _**Bold Italic**:: **Flashbacks.**_**

 **Chapter 4: ****Meddling Fate:**

 _September 4_ _th_ _, 1976;_

 **S** car was seriously considering the sheer providence in traveling to the past at the moment. Whichever higher being, whether they be Fate, Destiny or any Deity up there… they were really having a kick in surprising the savior and enjoying watching her stumble around by chucking bombshells in her path.

Staring disconcertedly at the handsome boy beside her – wavy hair so dark they reflected a dark bluish tint, rigid contoured face with a hard jaw, sun-kissed skin and onyx eyes gazing back at her in intense curiosity, Scar couldn't help but glare at the ceiling and curse Fate's morbid amusement.

At first, being paired with Rabastan Lestrange of _all people_ , as her Ancient Runes partner, she batted it away as a mere coincidence and moved onwards with her mission. However, _Antonin Dolohov_ , ruthless and lethal Death Eater who enjoyed pursuing Hermione, murdered Fabian and Gideon Prewett along with her honorary uncle, Remus Lupin, tearing him apart from his one-month-old son, and countless of other innocents; it was more than Scar could handle, and she was mentally cursing every higher being in her repertoire with rapid fervor.

That she was paired off, subsequently, with two deadly Death Eaters was no mere coincidence.

 _Fate was being a meddling cow._

The blundering fool, Horace Slughorn, commenced with jovially doling out instructions, starting them off with brewing the Amortentia Potion, the most powerful love potion in existence.

Barely sparing Dolohov a second glance, Scar darted over to the supply closet and retrieved the ingredients meant for the potion before laying them out between them, and she was acknowledged with a grunt in thanks. Inclining her head in response, Scar kept her head down and dexterously began chopping, slicing and dicing in rapid and deft precision.

While they worked together in a stifling silence, Scar's nerves constantly tingled, feeling the unwavering, shrewd onyx gaze burning into her skin. Turning her head fractionally, her mouth curved into a grim line upon noting her senses weren't incorrect and the lethal Death Eater was in fact staring at her as though she were a puzzle to be solved. Of course, being active in a war with over half the general public out to get her, and preferably capture, torture and murder her since the age of one, Scar knew her senses were dead-on and they had never before led her astray.

Instinctively, her hand stretched out, ceasing the grinding of rose thorns when she noted Dolohov's distraction, and she firmly curled her hand around his in a halting motion. Dolohov flinched slightly at the sudden contact, glaring at her questionably, onyx orbs flickering between their linked hands and her eyes.

"You were adding the ashwinder eggs too soon," she hissed at him in the case of prying ears. Somehow she knew the proud Russian would not appreciate his error spreading throughout the dungeon. "The potion would have blown up. You're supposed to stir it clockwise, anti-clockwise for five more minutes and _then_ add the eggs."

She willed herself not to squirm under his unblinking gaze, and she mentally took note of an indecipherable emotion flash past his eyes before he gave her a diminutive nod of appreciation, and the two of them continued working in silence. Unfortunately, the redhead felt his gaze on her intensify since she prevented a massive explosion from occurring.

Ten minutes before the lesson ended, a triumphant smile flashed across her face when the finished potion turned into its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen and emitted spiraled steam from the cauldron.

"You have done this potion before," Dolohov stated, his tone matter-of-fact, and Scar found herself thankful that she managed to stop herself from jumping in her seat and squeaking out loud when the sudden rough baritone vocalized from beside her. The amused glint in those perceptive onyx orbs conveyed Scar's utter failure in wholly repressing her shock, and he patiently awaited her reply.

"Yes. I was… homeschooled, so I was taught ahead from schedule," Scar neutrally offered. She would be damned if she'd allow this _boy_ to intimidate her, after all, she was the one that ended his abhorrent life in the final battle.

A slow smirk etched on to his face. "I unsettle you. Don't lie," he hastened to say in a firm tone, predicting her next words of falsehood.

"Aren't you all omnipresent," Scar snarkily snapped, prompting a low chuckle much to her dismay. "Why are you talking to me?" she decided it was best to turn the table around, and she forced her lips to curl into a haughty smirk, "Isn't it in the prejudiced bylaws of Hogwarts for Slytherins to never initiate conversations with Gryffindors?"

Dolohov leaned back in his seat, casually crossing his arms as he allowed an amused smile to flitter on his face, onyx orbs twinkling with mischief, "Ah, but you forget, you are Lady Emrys- _Slytherin_. Gryffindor or not, you are, by extension, a Slytherin."

 _Damn him_.

Scar grimaced, unable to refute his statement. Dolohov was shrewd. She had hoped that he was merely all muscle and a fierce dueler, but apparently, he inherited brains and had a sharp wit to boot.

She knew that her destination in the past was not only to save lives, but souls, but the savior found it difficult to let go of future grudges and malice. Severus, Narcissa and Regulus were easy decisions since she _knew_ they had redeemable qualities and had, in their own cunning way, aided in ending the war. Rabastan Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov were the first Death Eaters she faced till now, and she was severely conflicted.

It was a shame really. Both Lestrange and Dolohov lost their devastating good looks, and humorous qualities in their fifteen-year stint in Azkaban surrounded by those accursed Dementors and deep inside, Scar felt vindictive pleasure. They deserved no less for their future deplorable actions.

Rubbing her temples in aggravation, Scar knew that she was already failing her mission with her mere thoughts. It was not up to her to decide their fates, after all, her sheer presence in the past was to _change_ their future actions, and she was flunking… horribly.

"Are you alright?" Dolohov inquired, onyx eyes scrutinizing her face in confusion as he was unable to get a read on her.

Mercifully, Slughorn ambled over to them and for the first time, Scar felt grateful for his suffocating and overbearingly jovial presence.

"Oho! _Oho_! You have succeeded spectacularly! No sixth year has ever managed to complete the Amortentia Potion on their first try without any mistakes! Very impressive! Ten points each to Gryffindor and Slytherin," Slughorn boomed, garnering everyone's attention onto their table. Dolohov smirked, cunning bastard that he is, he knew that without Scar's aid, he would have drastically failed.

"Everyone clear out your desks, class is over," Slughorn announced, but before Scar could gather her equipment, he leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner and said, "My Lady, I would be deeply honored if you'd attend the Slug Club."

Knowing the Slug Club to be a handpick of Slughorn's favorites at Hogwarts for their ambition, brains, charms, talents and most of all, their imposing standing in the Wizarding World, Scar feigned confusion, and innocently articulated, "The Slug Club, Professor?" After all, it would come off as suspicious if she knew what the utterly boring club was, having just arrived at Hogwarts two days ago.

"Yes, yes, Lady Emrys-Slytherin. It is merely a handpick of students I find accomplished in their studies, and those with potential," Slughorn innocently explained – the manipulative codger.

With a saccharine smile, Scar cordially accepted and ignored Dolohov's amused stare on her person. That guy seriously needed a hobby instead of depicting her body language. Grabbing her belongings, Scar was halfway out of class when the aroma of her successful potion hit her nose buds, and she stiffened in place, unable to take a step forward.

 _Treacle tart, the mixed aroma of the garden in the Burrow, and a mix of Dungbomb and lime_.

Her eyes moistened as she desperately sniffed the odor as though she were trudging for days under the scorching sun of the desert, desperately thirsting for water.

 _Fred. The smell was so, so… Fred Weasley._

Her free hand sprung to her neck and latched on to her engagement ring as memories of her Freddie overflowed her thoughts. The world around her dissolved, nothing mattered at this moment, nothing but the familiar tantalizing fragrance of her Freddie, of her lost love.

A hand suddenly gripped her shoulder, awakening her from her melancholic reverie, and she recognized two different voices pervading the air in an attempt to gain her attention as they constantly called out to her. Blinking rapidly, her vision cleared and she found herself standing in the deserted Potions classroom with Rabastan Lestrange and Antonin Dolohov staring at her with concern and bemusement, respectively.

"Emrys-Slytherin? You just dozed off there, are you alright?" Rabastan enquired, unable to hide his discomfort.

A traitorous tear escaped her eyelid and she roughly brushed it away, forcing a convincing smile that turned out to be more of a grimace. "Yes, yeah, I'm fine. I'm gonna just…go," she trailed off and hightailed it out the dungeons, far away from the future lethal Death Eater's vicinity and the addicting aroma of her Fred.

Glaring at the celling once more and spewing out a multitude of curses, Scar could have sworn she heard amused yet mischievous giggling, and she once again questioned Fate's sinister schemes.

Fate really was a meddling cow!

 **S** itting in Arithmancy, Scar ignored the questioning stares and the curiosity radiating from both Rabastan and Dolohov. Even her position at the back of the class didn't stop the two Slytherins from constantly eyeing her from the front.

One would think being a sixth year and preparing for the N.E.W.T.s, that the professors would prefer students to work diligently by their lonesome.

Scar didn't know which was better; the fact that she wasn't partnered with another future Death Eater, or the fact that Professor Vector had paired her off with Remus Lupin! None of those options were the least bit appealing, and Scar cursed her misfortune. She was trying to _avoid_ the Marauders, not be in the proximity of one of them; honestly, she'd have preferred James, Sirius or Lily, at least they didn't have unerring werewolf senses.

Once again, Scar's senses were attacked by a piercing gaze, and as much as she tried to brush it off and ignore, it was becoming gratingly bothersome. Turning her head a fraction, she arched an inquisitive eyebrow at Remus' direction, and while he flushed slightly at getting caught, a shiver trickled down her spine from the intensity of those amber orbs.

There was something about Remus' gaze that raised alarm bells in her head, and she couldn't shake the foreboding sensation that she had forgotten something crucial.

Once again, she was joined by Lily, Alice, Marlene and Dorcas at the Gryffindor table in the hopes of keeping James and his loud declaration of affections at bay. The Marauders _despised_ her to the extent that only one-sided wistful glances were sent by James, but Scar should have known that the two day routine would have come to an end sooner or later. In his adolescence, James Potter was arrogant and spoilt, and he wouldn't allow a barrier in the humanoid form of Lady _Slytherin_ , to block his path in getting Lily to finally accept him, however, his determination was commendable.

James Potter was, after all, a Marauder, and by definition, it meant he was a very creative wizard, and as a prankster, it made him somewhat of an expert when it came to loopholes.

For that reason, Scar rolled her eyes knowingly when two dozen owls flew over and flocked their side of the table with a bouquet of lilies tied on each of their feet. The commotion was loud and crowded on her side of the table much to her ire. Lily glared at James as her three best friends tried clearing the table off and relieving the poor owls from their burden.

"Potter! What the hell?!" Lily shrieked, and Scar noted with amusement that nobody in the Great Hall batted an eyelash, too used to their regular squabbles displayed in public. In fact, Minerva McGonagall merely rolled her eyes and looked the other way while Dumbledore's eyes twinkled tenfold.

James grinned smugly as Sirius roared in uproarious laughter by his side, "You're avoiding me Evans, so I thought I'd convince you by owl post," his hazel eyes stared beseechingly at hers with his next words, "Go out with me, come on!"

Stamping her foot like a petulant child, Lily yelled at the top of her lungs, one hand fisted into a tight ball, "I've said it already, and I'll say it _again_ ; I will _never_ go out with you, even if the choice was between you and the giant squid!"

Pity engulfed Scar, and her ruined eyes watered slightly at the crestfallen expression on her teenage father's face; in the future, Sirius and Remus constantly relayed to her the many stories of how her father made a fool of himself, constantly pleading her mother to go out with him ever since their third year, but they never informed her of _how_ her dad accepted her mom's constant rejections and crude words. All she knew was that by seventh year, James matured as he was branded Head Boy and Lily began reciprocating his affections, finally accepting a Hogsmeade date by winter and getting engaged after graduation.

The dejected emotion that exuded from James tugged on her heartstrings, but his mien rapidly shifted into one of arrogant nonchalance before anybody could take notice of his despondence, and he smugly bellowed, "You won't be able to keep rejecting me, Evans. One day I'll win you over."

"Keep dreaming!" Lily snarled.

Suffice to say, by dinnertime in the Great Hall, twenty-four random girls cooed and squealed in delight when they each received a bouquet of lilies, a smug Lily grinning enthusiastically with Alice, Marlene and Dorcas as James gaped, closing and opening his mouth like a fish out of water when the bestowed girls yelled out their gratitude and huddled around him like a flock of sheep.

Wracking her memories, Scar couldn't recall Sirius or Remus narrating this event, and she knew that her interference in the past was already changing circumstances, even minor events.

 **E** ver since Emrys-Slytherin maneuvered her way into Hogwarts, Remus Lupin had been experiencing an influx of emotions. First was obviously hatred and suspicion, unable to relinquish the infamous bigotry that infected Magical Britain, and the Lions enmity with the snakes. Her speech in the Great Hall upon her arrival succeeded in rendering him speechless, and although a part of him could make sense of her words and found her dissection of the bigotry to be spot-on, he couldn't shake off any form of antagonism and contempt in regards to the Slytherins.

Prongs and Padfoot hated her guts and the very earth she walked on, especially after she aired out their dirty laundry in a public setting, and they were perfectly content living in a state of bliss denial. Wormtail found her odd and slightly scary, unable to be around her for long periods of time without trembling and twitching – the other three didn't blame him in the slightest when they took note of the many venomous glares she continuously threw at him, even when the poor boy did nothing to receive her disdain.

At the age of five, Remus was violently bitten by Fenrir Greyback as a means of revenge against his father, Lyall, and since then, he was infected with Lycanthropy, suffering throughout his childhood in constant and unbearable excruciating pain. From a young age, Remus had forsaken his dreams of receiving a standard education at Hogwarts, becoming a proper wizard and making friends. However, he was proven wrong when Headmaster Dumbledore offered him a position in the prestige school and a safe way of transforming every full moon away from Hogwarts' populace.

Yet again, Remus was proven wrong when he got sorted into Gryffindor and found the ultimate friendship in James, Sirius and Peter. After a year of feeding his friends lies, informing them that every month he had to go home and visit his sick mother, the remaining Marauders spent the first summer investigating and finally discovered his Lycanthropy.

Too used to the feeling of dejection as the Ministry had branded werewolves to be nothing but mindless monsters and Dark heartless creatures, Remus felt saddened, highly expecting his first and only friends to abandon him, only to be proven wrong for the third time. Instead, they began looking into becoming Animagi so that they could accompany him on those painful lonely nights under the full moon, and by fifth year, they sufficiently succeeded in the unimaginable feat.

Moony recognized Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail as members of his pack, and since then, they became known as family to the lone wolf – _Pack_.

With Emrys-Slytherin's appearance at Hogwarts, Remus shared his friends' hatred and views regarding the descendant of Slytherin, however, in her very first potions class, when Slughorn partnered her with Dolohov, Moony's hackles were raised and started whining for some peculiar reason. During Arithmancy class, when Professor Vector assigned them as partners, Moony relaxed and Remus felt content.

For some inexplicable reason, Moony was protective of the Slytherin's descendant, and Remus disliked that notion. Fighting his wolf would only do him harm, and so, he decided to watch the girl closely, and try to comprehend _why_ Moony felt a bond to the suspicious girl. But he didn't dare confide in the rest of the Marauders, only hope that the strange, unwarranted sentiment would dissipate in time.

* * *

 _September 5_ _th_ _, 1976;_

 **T** he day had gone by without a glitch.

Scar had, once again, surpassed expectations in Transfiguration, where they had proceeded with casting non-verbal spells on beetles, transforming them into buttons, and for the skilled few who had succeeded in the transfiguration exercise, were being given a multitude of beetles to non-verbally transfigure into _one_ button.

Professor Flitwick had taken a liking to Scar, unable to suppress his gleeful astonishment in her deftness to outshine her year mates in the Aguamenti Charm in her initial try. It wasn't surprising on balance; the half-goblin professor and Professor Sprout were well-known and overall liked due to their dislike in participating in the notorious bigotry. They treated students from all houses fairly, and were just in doling out rewards and punishments.

The half-goblin however, always had a special place in the savior's heart ever since her fifth year; although Dumbledore was ignoring her at that point for fear of Voldemort possessing her, Flitwick was instructed to teach her dueling ever since her capture after the Triwizard Tournament, and she progressed remarkably under his two years of tutelage.

Rabastan waylaid her after lunch with the excuse of working on their Ancient Runes project that needed to be handed in by Friday, which was how she found herself sitting once again in the corner of the library, rummaging through many scrolls and texts for protection runes against the Dark Arts.

"What's going on between you and Lupin?" Rabastan randomly asked, causing Scar to knock a giant tome onto the ground, staring at him with bewildered eyes.

Scrunching her brows in confusion, Scar hesitantly inquired, "What are you blathering on about, Lestrange?"

"Come on! Don't tell me you haven't noticed?" Grinning, Rabastan nudged his head in the direction of the table far across from them, "Lupin hasn't been able to take his eyes off you, glaring at you the whole time. Did you two have a spat?" The smirk on his lips betrayed his amusement, but his blue-grey orbs flashed with genuine curiosity.

Searching for said-werewolf, Scar swallowed back the flinch that threatened to consume her at the sight of the malicious glare. Scar had to continuously repeat the worn-out mantra in her head three of the four Marauders weren't _her_ James, Sirius and Remus, but deep inside, she was bothered and gravely hurt with their obvious hatred and disdain toward her just because of the Slytherin tacked on to Emrys in her last name.

"I never spoke to the guy. He's probably pissed in Potter and Black's defense, or maybe because I'm a descendant of Slytherin," Scar dismissively waved a hand. Bending over to pick up the fallen tome, she couldn't help but mutter, "Bigoted morons."

Rabastan leaned forward in a mixture of intrigue and levity, " _Ohh_? Do tell."

Warped eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Why are you so interested in every word that comes out of my mouth, Lestrange?"

Rabastan tapped his chin in response, blue-grey orbs scrutinizing her, and Scar fought the urge to squirm under the piercing, studious gaze. "I find myself… _interested_ in you. Your words, your beliefs, I have never heard opinions such as yours before. You have a fascinating mind."

Stupefied at the unexpected, yet genuine response from the lethal future Death Eater, she acquiesced. "When the Headmaster introduced me on the first day and announced my sorting into Gryffindor, I was met with a harsh resistance, spearheaded by Potter and Black. So a descendant of Slytherin got sorted into Gryffindor, I fail to see why the bigotry… I, of course, was always taught to speak my mind and defend myself from criticism, especially with my ancient bloodlines. James Potter and Sirius Black loudly acknowledged that all Slytherins were evil and future Death Eaters; I rebutted their claim by stating a few discrepancies: Andromeda Black married a Muggleborn and she isn't evil, Dorea Potter was a Black and she married a Potter, Alphard Black was disinherited for not believing the Pureblood propaganda, and I named a countless other well-known Slytherins related to the Gryffindors who weren't evil. My advertising the Slytherins in their family wasn't taken lightly," Scar shrugged nonchalantly once she concluded her heated tirade.

If the situation were any different, Scar would have gladly laughed out loud at the comical look of shock on Rabastan's visage. She wanted to be taken seriously, hoping her words had an effect on the ruthless Slytherin and so, she maintained her solemn composure and awaited his recovery.

"Lady Emrys-Slytherin, you truly are a breath of fresh air," Rabastan breathed out in awe, blue-grey orbs gleaming in approval.

For some unfathomable reason, something clicked in Scar, and she decided that she would try to the utmost of her ability, to save Rabastan Lestrange's soul.

Unknown to the time-traveler, a young Slytherin stood nearby, cleverly hidden in the shadows of the bookshelves, having overheard the entire conversation, and he began pondering the mysterious Lady Emrys-Slytherin and the lengths she was going through with her vehement crusade against bigotry.

 **A** n invisible being was currently roaming the empty halls of the castle after curfew with a specific destination in mind. The silent footsteps paused on the seventh floor, directly in front of a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls how to dance ballet.

Suddenly, a metal door appeared in its place, and a dainty hand, gruesomely carved with the words, ' _I_ _must not tell lies'_ emerged as though it were levitating in thin air. With a barely audible creak, the handle was pulled downward and the strange door swung open before shutting and disappearing entirely from view.

At that exact moment, one of the sixth year prefects, Lily Evans, ambled by, seeming to witness nothing out of place and emitting a mirthful giggle at the hilarious vision of a troll dressed in a pink tutu. Shaking her head in amusement, she continued with her duty, scouring the castle for anyone roaming the halls after curfew.

However, behind the humorously ridiculous tapestry, Scarlett Emrys-Slytherin whipped the Invisibility Cloak from her person and tucked it back in her pocket, ruined eyes watering as she scoped the room that appeared before her.

The kitchen was small and rather cramped, there was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle where many memorable meals had taken place in her fond years of visitation. The clock on the wall opposite to her had only one hand, but instead of numbers, written around the edge were words such as ' _Time to make tea_ ' and ' _You're late_ ' among many others. The most precious magical item of all however, was the miniature grandfather cloak that had nine golden hands, one for each member of the household… none of them were pointed at death, even though they were all gone in her time.

This was her home. This was home until the deranged bitch of a lunatic Bellatrix Lestrange burned it to the ground after Bill and Fleur's wedding. It was _home._

 _The Burrow_.

Like a ghost, Scar walked around the replica of her home the Room of Requirement had presented to her. A rivulet of nonstop tears cascaded down her face as she fingered every possession from her old life, before everything went to hell, before Voldemort's accursed ritual and before Death stole them from her.

Her hands greedily reached out to the few picture frames of herself with Ron, Hermione, Fred and the rest of the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley always perceived her as a second daughter, even before she began dating Fred, and more than anything, she wished for the chance to see them one last time.

The other day, the Amortentia Potion hit too close to home, and ever since, she couldn't abolish the many wistful and morbid reveries of the family she had lost.

"I miss you," Scar murmured, a finger tracing the contour of Fred's jovial face, mischief twinkling in his blue eyes. "I miss you _so damn much_!"

"I CAN'T DO THIS!" she suddenly bellowed, staring at the ceiling imploringly. "How did Merlin find me worthy? I can't-, it's so hard…" she trailed off, collapsing onto the ground on her knees and weeping uncontrollably, pearly tears staining the carpeted ground.

After an hour of heart-wrenching sobs, Scar gathered enough strength to lift herself from the ground, and lean against the wall, eyes closed in a sign of tranquility. Suddenly, a tingle brushed against her skin and a welcoming ambience of affection permeated the air, her eyes snapping open at the sudden rush of… warmth.

She blindly padded throughout the room, following the trail of magic, until she reached a shelf decorated with picture frames and a loud gasp escaped her, eyes widening on the golden charm bracelet with a heart locket that innocently sat by a picture of Remus and Tonks. Her hand shook as she hesitantly reached out to grab it and a fresh batch of tears streamed down her cheekbones.

 ** _**"It's a boy! Dora gave birth to a boy, and-, Scar, I would be honored if you would take the role as Teddy's godmother. I trust no one but you."_**

 ** _"_** ** _Of-, of course, Remus. I would be honored!" Scar beamed, wiping away the happy tears from her face and accepting her honorary uncle's loving embrace.**_**

 ** _**"Scar, a minute please," Remus' hand prevented her from leaving the Room of Requirement with the others, and she glanced at him inquisitively._**

 ** _"_** ** _Remus? What's wrong? The battle is about to start," Scar rapidly said, brows knitting in concern and confusion._**

 ** _They were currently at Hogwarts, preparing for the final battle, and the Order had spread around the castle barking out instructions and strategically planning for the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters._**

 ** _"_** ** _I know," Remus smiled, and she noticed his smile to be sad, and it didn't reach his eyes. He took out a golden charm bracelet from his pocket and held it out to her. Slowly, Scar accepted it, eyeing the heart locket with interest. "Open it," he whispered._**

 ** _Gasping, one hand sprung to cover her mouth in shock as tears fell down her face, "Remus…"_**

 ** _On the right side of the heart locket, there was a picture of her being held by her dad, his other hand snaked around her mum's waist. James Potter's eyes shone with love and affection as his hazel orbs drifted from her cherubic face, to her mum and then back to the camera. Lily's emerald eyes twinkled with merriment and she placed a chaste kiss on her tiny forehead. She looked to be a few days old, and already her wide doe-like eyes were the color of a vivid, emerald green and her bare head had a few crimson curls protruding. The picture portrayed the astronomical love her parents held for her, captured in that fleeting moment._**

 ** _On the left side of the locket, was a picture of her, the night before leaving Shell Cottage to rob Gringotts. Her ruined eyes stared down at her godson, Teddy Lupin, who was barely a month old, with so much love, before smiling brightly at the camera._**

 ** _"_** ** _In case anything happens-, Tonks and I thought you'd like this memento as a good luck charm for tonight. Remember what you're fighting for my Cub," Remus whispered.**_**

Opening the locket, she couldn't help but weep, sobs wracking her body at the two pictures… it was the exact replica of the one Remus had given her before his death.

Unfortunately, she lost her precious gift somewhere in between viewing Snape's memories in Dumbledore's pensieve, and walking into the heart of the Forbidden Forest to her death, and its loss hit her hard, especially when scouring the battlefield for it, to no avail.

Quickly wounding it around her wrist, she placed many charms on it, especially the return to owner charm, unable to risk losing it again. Shockingly, a bright genuine smile appeared on her face and she stared up at the ceiling, whispering a heartfelt, "Thank you."

Fate may be a meddling cow, but the sentiment was deeply appreciated, and she would wholly accept the lending hand.

 **A/N: ****Whew! This chapter took time to write. … Did you like it?**

 **What do you think about Antonin Dolohov? Did you like how I portrayed him?… Regardless of your views about him, I have created a shocking backstory to him, twisting the plot for the future in his sake… I cannot wait to read your reactions to what I have laid out for Dolohov! XD**

 **Who do you think the eavesdropping Slytherin was?** **And what do you think is going on with Remus/Moony? ;)**

 **Also, some of you are probably wondering where Severus Snape is and why I didn't mention him in potions class… I wanted to stress upon her first meeting with Dolohov, but don't worry, Snape will make his debut soon!**

 **Next chapter, we will see the deranged Bellatrix… don't worry, I did not forget about her! ;)**

 **R &R.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: ****All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **A/N:** ** _**Bold Italic**:: **Flashbacks.**_**

 **Chapter 5:** **Sentient Help:**

 _September 7_ _th_ _, 1976;_

 **T** he last day of lessons for Scar's very first week in the past had finally arrived, and the class she had been most looking forward to would begin after breakfast – double Defense Against the Dark Arts. In the future, the cursed subject had a series of unfortunate professors: a sycophantic, stuttering fool of an unbranded Death Eater, a peacocked self-obsessed and arrogant fraud only adept in memory charms, a werewolf, a clinically insane and murderous Death Eater disguised as a respectable war veteran, an amphibian hag who reveled in torturing students, and a Death Eater turned spy who shared a deep loathing to her person. During Scar's six years at Hogwarts, only the werewolf, the insane Death Eater disguised as a war veteran, and the loathsome spy were fairly adequate professors, while the others were intent in killing and destroying her tattered life.

Although many witches and wizards of the past generation succumbed to a horrible and untimely death upon the culmination of the First War, it was a renowned fact that the witches and wizards of this generation were proficient and highly skilled, and fought bravely until their dying breath, taking down many Death Eaters with them. Scar was definitely curious to compare the diverse Professors from the future to the past.

Sixth years from all the four houses were assembled for the N.E.W.T Defense Against the Dark Arts class, taught by Professor Gerald Marchbanks, a wizard in his thirties with dirty blonde hair, sparkling cerulean eyes and a well-trimmed goatee. At first glance, Professor Marchbanks seemed adept, but Scar's numerous horrifying experiences taught her by now that a person's visage was not to be trusted without background information – Lockhart may have been a fraud with no skillset whatsoever, but that didn't stop the vile coward from trying to obliviate her after discovering his fraudery, cowardice and utter ineptitude.

"Good morning class," Professor Marchbanks announced. His voice was deep with a combination of sternness and jubilance. Glaring at the chattering Marauders, he loudly clapped his hands once for silence, before smoothly continuing, "I am glad to see that many of you have succeeded in achieving Exceeds Expectations and Outstanding scores to continue onwards with this class, especially since I arrived halfway through your O.W.L year and most of you were behind in the most important defensive and offensive spells."

He began pacing leisurely around the classroom, holding eye contact with a certain few individuals as he proceeded with his speech, and Scar took note that the Professor demanded attention and respect without even trying or even an inkling of persuasion or threats of detention and lost points.

"This may be hard to hear, but outside these castle walls, life will be very different, and you must _all_ be prepared for the inevitable in the coming war, at least to defend yourselves and your loved ones. I will _not_ be going easy on you, I will _not_ hold your hands, and I will _not_ feed you sugary words and lies over your ability to continue onwards with my class. This is _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ , and I will _not_ tolerate any prejudice in the classroom, nor will I tolerate _any_ loitering. To those who are uninterested in learning and acting in a completely civilized manner, I am warning you from now, to _leave_ and _drop_ the class. I am not a fan of second chances, and detentions received by me, will be _very_ severe." Stern cerulean eyes fixated intensely on Scar as he concluded his speech, "To those who do not know me, my name is Gerald Marchbanks, and I have been an Auror in the Ministry of Magic for fifteen years ever since I graduated from Hogwarts."

Scar inwardly smirked; it was feasible that Professor Marchbanks and herself would be getting along splendidly. At least this Professor had credible experience and a large repertoire of spells in that noggin of his.

They were instructed to pair off with a person from a different house and conjure shields non-verbally while the other would non-verbally cast an offensive spell – a very similar start to Professor Snape's very first class in her sixth year.

Gerald Marchbanks was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, enlisted by Alastor Moody, the war veteran himself, and had immediately offered himself up to fill in the vacant role of Defense Professor with the hopes of teaching the future of the British Wizarding Community, with the specific purpose of training them for the upcoming brutal war. Before he left to teach his sixth years, the Headmaster insisted on meeting with him, informing him of the mysterious Lady Emrys-Slytherin, and, as a prominent and trusted member of the Order, Albus confided in him, that she was a staunch supporter of the Light, perceptibly shocking him.

Curious over the fact that _the_ Lady Slytherin was against Voldemort, Gerald decided to subtly keep a vigilant watch on her progress in class, and he noticed the girl was _phenomenal_ in Defense. In fact, she was the first individual to cast a non-verbal spell successfully, not that anybody noticed since they were all struggling with their own spell.

After two hours of futile results, Professor Marchbanks barked out, "That's enough for now! Everybody stop! _Stop!_ " Wands were immediately lowered and every pair of eyes focused on the disappointed professor. "None of you managed to hold the spell for long. None, except for one student," and everybody took note of his cerulean orbs staring intensely into a pair of damaged orbs.

"Ms. Emrys-Slytherin," Gerald addressed her. "You seem to be adept in casting non-verbal spells. Did you self-study beforehand or was it merely a fluke?"

Scar's exterior was drawn in an impassive mask as she squarely met the Professor's intense orbs, but inwardly, she smirked. The second he proclaimed his speech, he made it obvious that the Headmaster traded a few words with him for her benefit. The savior travelled to the past to change _everything_ , and standing out before her peers would be very beneficial for her ploy in garnering fruitful results.

Cocking her head to the side, Scar firmly spoke up, "I have had a few experiences with non-verbal casting, and after discovering its many advantages, I started self-studying as I was home-schooled." Murmurs filled the classroom at her declaration and Professor Marchbanks' cerulean orbs flashed with an indescribable emotion.

"Advantages you say?" Gerald inquired sharply, a hand stroking his goatee, "Do enlighten us Ms. Emrys-Slytherin."

 _Hook, Line and Sinker._

Gerald Marchbanks took her bait, but a part of Scar realized that the shrewd, perceptive wizard knew what he was getting into with his curious inquiry.

Mulling over her next words, Scar ignored the myriad of orbs burning into her person and kept her blemished eyes trained on a pair of astute cerulean. "When dueling, whether it be on the battlefield to your death, or a friendly skirmish, if you duel using mostly non-verbal spells, then your opponent will not know a spell is coming from your wand _until_ it is cast." She licked her lips and brought forward a few memories of her personal experience when dueling Death Eaters in her past, and smoothly continued, "It gives a split second advantage in a duel. Some spells do look similar when cast, so countering them is harder when the incantation isn't known. Do they shield against what could be a bone-breaking curse, or move out of the way of what could possibly be a blasting charm? _Also_ , it is harder for the enemy to counter the effects of a curse one of their numbers was hit with if they _don't know_ _what_ the incantation was. For all practical purposes, in a battlefield, till the fight is over, that person might as well be hit by the Killing Curse since it will take time to diagnose and counter the curse, time the enemy won't be able to afford. So, in retrospect, if you are adept in casting non-verbal spells, then you will have a higher probability of surviving a hostile encounter."

The ambience following her coherently spoken diatribe was deafening; all eyes were glued to her form in varying states of incredulous awe and outstanding disbelief, but her ruined orbs never once left the Professor ever since he disrupted their spell-casting and she didn't fail to notice the diminutive smirk that faintly appeared on his visage.

"I think we shall leave it at that. For homework! I want a two feet essay on non-verbal casting, its advantages and its technique. _Class dismissed_!" a cacophony of groans followed by hushed chattering reverberated around the room as they conversed amongst each other and fled the classroom, but just as Scar grabbed her possessions, Professor Marchbanks asked that she remain behind as the last person departed.

Scar decided to be the first to break the silence, a genuine smile crossing her visage, "Well, Professor Marchbanks, was my answer what you expected?"

"You knew?" the only hint of shock portrayed on Gerald's face, was the lift of an eyebrow on his handsome face. Scar scoffed and confidently ambled toward his desk, "Oh _please_ , Professor. The second your eyes met mine toward the end of your invigorating speech, _I knew_ the Headmaster traded a few… _words_ with you. You wanted to test me, covertly learn more about me, and simultaneously, separate myself from the other sixth years in terms of experience, hoping they would try and surmount me in the next Defense class."

A warm chuckle filled escaped his lips, cerulean orbs appraising her, "Albus was spot on. You really are something. I will admit, I do not entertain the dogma spreading throughout Britain. After all, my grandmother, Griselda Marchbanks, was a Slytherin, and yet she hates the Dark Side with a passion. But I will admit, I judged you unfairly upon your mysterious arrival and thought you prejudiced."

Scar smiled and waved her hand dismissively, "You aren't, nor will you be, the only one, Professor. I cannot fault you for decades of suspicions and opinions of the political propaganda that's spreading like pestilence amongst the pureblooded societies. It would take something big to eliminate such poison, but I have faith that in time, it shall be eviscerated."

As Scarlett Emrys-Slytherin departed the classroom, Gerald Marchbanks leaned against his desk, his cerulean orbs transfixed on where she previously stood, pondering Albus' words, as well as Ms. Emrys-Slytherin's. _Yes, she would be a wonderful asset to the Order of the Phoenix._ He could not wait to work alongside her in the upcoming and inevitable war.

 **D** eciding to steer clear of the Great Hall, Scar changed route a few feet away from the dissonance of chattering students and made her way to the basement, down the staircase leading to the Hufflepuff Common Room and ambled along the corridor until she faced a painting of a bowl of fruit, knowing it to be the entrance to where the Kitchens was located. Tickling the pear on the portrait, she couldn't help the fond smile from spreading on her face as it giggled and squirmed, recalling the memory of the first time she entered the house-elf infested area after the First Task in her fourth year, dragged by an excited Hermione Granger and shadowed by a confused Ron Weasley.

Spew came to mind, the fond memory hitting her like a ton of bricks.

 ** _**"Not Spew, Scar! It's S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare," Hermione huffed indignantly, shaking the basket filled with S.P.E.W. badges._**

 ** _Staring dumbfounded at their bushy-haired best friend, Ron blurted out, "Never heard of it."_**

 ** _"_** ** _Well, of course you haven't," she retorted briskly. "I've only just started it."_**

 ** _Scar hid a knowing smirk behind her hand, her emerald orbs shining with mirth at Hermione, "How many members do you have, Mia?" Shooting Scar and Ron a stubborn look, she adamantly replied, "Well – if you two join… three."_**

 ** _Just like Scar predicted, Ron bristled slightly and threw Hermione a look of utter incredulity, his blue orbs glancing at the badge in mild disbelief, "And you think Scar and I want to walk around wearing badges saying '_** **spew** ** _,' do you?"_**

 ** _"_** ** _S-P-E-W!" Hermione snapped hotly, her hair crackling with irritation, "I was going to put 'Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in their Legal Status' – but it wouldn't fit. So that's the heading of our manifesto."_**

 ** _"_** ** _Woah, hold up on the '_** **we'** ** _, bossy boots," Scar chuckled. Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say, for Hermione threw a badge onto each of their divination homework and stormed up to her dormitory without another word.**_**

Truly, Scar preferred Ron's moniker; _The House-Elf Liberation Front_.

"Miss, oh hello, Miss, what can we's be doings for you's?" a squeaky elf dressed in a puppet-sized white dress with the Hogwarts crest and bulging whiskey-colored eyes cried out ecstatically.

Smiling benignly at the exuberant house-elf, Scar simply asked for a bowl of fruits, knowing that with her youth of starvation and malnourishment, along with her capture and the year on the run, her metabolism was currently the size of a pin-prick. True to their nature, the house-elves were very welcoming and insistent on serving her every whim, but in Scar's opinion, they were nothing compared to Dobby.

There was a prickling behind her eyeballs as tears threatened to cascade with thoughts of Dobby. Dobby, the catalyst to Hermione's house-elf obsessed propaganda. Hermione couldn't tolerate the fact that Dobby was the exception to the rule; just because he relished being a free elf, didn't mean all house-elves did. But everything had an expiry date, and Hermione's crusade in liberating house-elves came to an abrupt demise with Voldemort's return, and all her drive was aimed in aiding Scar in the war and her purpose in defeating the Dark Lord once and for all.

 _Here Lies Dobby: A Free Elf._

Shaking her head from the morbid thoughts of her past, Scar profusely thanked the exultant house-elves and made her way to Ancient Runes, grimacing over the fact that she would once again be in close proximity of Rabastan Lestrange, even though she decided to save his soul. However, all contemplations of redeeming the younger Lestrange brother were put on pause at the revolting scene she stumbled upon.

The Marauders, led by James Potter and Sirius Black were head-to-head with Severus Snape, who lay by their feet, his wand far from reach, and was currently placed in a full body-bind. Remus Lupin stood by the corner, his amber eyes fixated on the scene and his lips set in a grim line; of course, the werewolf wouldn't dare to intervene due to his low self-esteem and paranoia that the Marauders would ditch him if he ever stepped in and announced his disapproval… _bloody good for nothing Prefect._ Peter Pettigrew, the gormless rat, shadowed Sirius, salivating at the scene like a sycophantic piece of shit, his beady eyes blazing with sick triumph at the Slytherin's mortification. But what had Scar recoiling in horror and shame, were the equally identical looks of gleeful triumph and arrogance on her young father and godfather's visage.

 ** _**"How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter," Snape suddenly growled with disdain. "He too was exceedingly arrogant. A small amount of talent on the Quidditch field made him think he was a cut above the rest of us too. Strutting around the place with his friends and admirers… the resemblance between you is uncanny."_**

 ** _Enraged beyond belief at his tarnishing her Dad who was her hero, she snapped, "My dad didn't_** **strut** ** _. And neither do I!"**_**

Her Snape's accurate depiction of her father was a bitter pill to swallow, but Scar ended up half right – _she_ didn't strut, and _she_ wasn't arrogant… unlike her father.

"What do you think, Wormtail?" James crowed arrogantly, "Should Padfoot and I add boils to his face?"

A bark-like laughter erupted from Sirius' lips. "Nah, Prongs, that's too tame. How about boils on his prick? He won't be able to sit for a week unless he goes to Pomfrey, and somehow I doubt he would," he grinned sinisterly at Snape's immobile face.

Shame engulfed the orphaned girl; her father and godfather were two cruel sons of bitches, and for the first time, she felt ashamed of her own blood. When she accidentally observed Snape's worst memory in his pensieve, Scar dismissed the thought of her father and godfather being a couple of bullies, stubbornly stating that the greasy git deserved it in her bliss denial… however, witnessing their cruelty first hand, they made Dudley and his goons look tame.

Unable to stand aside and do nothing, Scar stormed over to them and stood protectively over Severus Snape's immobile form. This man, this wizard, he was a hero in her books, one of the bravest men she ever had the honor of meeting, never mind the fact that he had been a right bastard to her ever since she stepped foot into Hogwarts simply because she was the daughter of his nemesis. And yet, he still continued on risking his life repeatedly because of his unchanging love and devotion to her dead mother which ended with his gruesome death at the hands of Nagini while Voldemort watched with nauseating glee. Scarlett would be damned if she'd allow this brave wizard to suffer under her father and godfather's spiteful wrath.

"Get. _Away_. From. Him," Scar snarled through gritted teeth, her distorted eyes flashing with apoplectic rage, and the Marauders witnessed the small hint of emerald green make an appearance, diminishing the pure white and violet rings. "You despicable boys, _you disgust me_!"

Sirius snorted, unbothered by her words in the least bit, "Of course you'd defend a slimy snake like yourself. He dabbles in Dark Magic, he's evil, most probably a bloody Death Eater to boot!"

A pang collided with Scar's already fragile heart as she reiterated _her_ godfather's previous statement, "The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters, Black!"

"What a load of drivel! Whoever told you that was barmy!" James scoffed, his hazel orbs flashing with disgust. But much to the Marauders' shock, Scar burst out into condescending laughter, "The barmy person who imparted those words of wisdom, was my beloved godfather, rest his soul. He was a hotheaded and rash boy in his youth, but then he grew up and learnt the harsh truth of the world and the bigoted bastards in this damn community!"

"Sorry _love_ ," Sirius snapped mockingly. "But your godfather knew jackshit!"

In a flash, Scar extended her wand and pointed it directly under Sirius' nose. " _OI_!" James bellowed, instantly pointing his wand at her, along with a trembling Pettigrew and a defiant Remus. Scar merely snorted in disdain, not once lowering her wand as she glared into the silver-grey orbs of her young godfat- no! _Black_! That man had no relation to her whatsoever, not anymore.

Her godfather died two years ago.

"You dare speak of the dead with such cruelty, Black. Watch your tongue, lest I cut it _for you_ ," Scar spat with palpable malice. "You lot call yourselves Gryffindors. You want to know what _I_ think of you? You're bloody cowards! Four on one? What the hell is wrong with you people? You call Severus evil, but I believe actions speak louder than words, and your actions right now are _deplorable!_ " she hissed, her warped eyes flickering in turn to each Marauder before focusing intently on the uncertain werewolf, "And you Lupin? I have _no_ fucking _clue_ what our esteemed Headmaster was thinking when he awarded you the prefect badge, because you're a right little shit, and the worst excuse of a Prefect I have _ever_ seen! I ought to rip that badge right off your chest!"

Which was true – Draco Malfoy, for all his many, _many_ faults, bigotry, and hatred toward the Golden Trio, not once did he exploit his Prefect stature until he was initiated into that bloody amphibian's accursed Inquisitorial Squad.

"You Pettigrew, don't get me started on your sniveling self, for all intent and purpose, your sorting into Gryffindor was a bloody sham. You're only good at shadowing those who are more powerful than you, those that can _protect you_. And cheering from the sidelines," and she took _great_ pleasure in watching the traitorous rat cower at her truthful words. James and Sirius didn't however, and James wasted no time in bellowing, " _Expelliarmus!_ "

Ducking with proficient ease, the red jet impacted with the column behind her, and she wasted no time in non-verbally casting the summoning charm, " _Accio James Potter's wand!_ " The casting of both spells happened in less than ten seconds, and the Marauders blinked in shock as they were now under the mercy of her.

"You fool!" she spat, "Did you not listen to a word I said in Defense about the advantages of non-verbal spells! _Don't even think about it!"_ she suddenly sneered, her eyes never leaving the flabbergasted Potter Heir. " _You_ , Lupin, put your bloody wand _down_ before I take it from you as well!" Satisfied that the werewolf listened to her, she glared at Potter and Black, "You two should be ashamed of yourselves! Both of you, who pride yourselves on being Light wizards when your heinous actions just proved that you are. _Anything. But!_ "

Suddenly, everything changed…

Spots started to invade her vision as her surroundings meshed together, her body started spasming and she let out a pained grunt as she collapsed onto her knees, both hers and Potter's wand tumbling from her hand and clattering on the ground as she lost control of her muscles. Now wasn't the bloody time to suffer from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus; unlucky for her, her body betrayed her.

 **S** everus Snape hated Gryffindors with a passion, _both_ the individuals, _and_ what they stood for. Of course, the bitter boy didn't always think that way, for during his Sorting when he first entered the castle, when his treasured best friend, Lily Evans got sorted into the Lion Den, he craved to be a Lion as well. Unfortunately, the Sorting Hat didn't agree with him and was quite insistent that his skills, cunning mind and ambitions were well-suited for the Snake Pit and that Gryffindor would slow him down.

James Potter and Sirius Black proved to be a thorn in his side ever since he first ambled into the Hogwarts Express, and his friendship with Lily fueled their hatred and cruelty. He was pranked, belittled and hexed on a constant basis by the Marauders and while Lily defended him to the very end, her loyalty to him only made things worse since James bloody Potter was enamored by the redheaded Muggleborn and the jealousy in him reared its ugly head, making him their whipping boy. And then, the Marauders went overboard after the Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. written examination; the combination of the continuous abuse he suffered under the hands of his _loving_ Muggle father during the holidays, and being bullied by Potter and Black nearly every single day for the duration of his five years at Hogwarts had him at wits' end, and he unleashed his raging tempest on his best friend, who had been merely defending him, by calling her the most unforgivable slur, bringing their friendship to fruition.

Friendless, the bitter boy became a mere shell of his previous self and a raging inferno shadowed him wherever he went. A few Slytherins conversed with him on a regular basis, but ironically, his closest friend, was Regulus Black, the younger brother of the boy he loathed with every fiber of his being. Spurred over the fact that Lily Evans no longer defended him and vehemently spoke up for him, the Marauders made sure to catch him unguarded in empty hallways and blow off some steam using him as their scapegoat.

On this peculiar day, it happened to be the fifth day in a row where he was confronted by the Marauders, and he was beginning to lose all hope of anybody coming to his aid. Regrettably, that morbid thought caught him off-guard, allowing Potter to successfully cast the full body-bind curse on him, rendering him vulnerable and at their mercy as his wand clattered by Black's feet. Trying to convey his utmost hatred with his eyes as the four Gryffindors stared down at his immobile form, pondering out loud their next course of cruel action, Severus was gobsmacked when the enigma to the Slytherin House approached his pitiful form and abrasively defended his honor.

Being placed under the full body-bind may have lost him the usage of his limbs, but his eyes and ears were as impeccable as ever, and he heard every single word traded between Potter, Black and Emrys-Slytherin. With his limited view of her back, Severus noticed the way her long, crimson curls crackled with energy and her predacious stance probably honed by years of experience, much to his bafflement. Onyx orbs widened and he wished he could utter out a warning as Potter made an attempt to disarm her, but astonishingly, he needn't be worried for her well-being, for the mesmerizing witch pounced with swift grace and managed to non-verbally summon Potter's wand, rendering him defenseless.

The five Gryffindors were too absorbed in their heated confrontation that they failed to notice the swarm of Slytherins and Gryffindors that were on their way to Ancient Runes descending them. He noticed with curiosity that Antonin and Rabastan were focused intently on Emrys-Slytherin while Lily averted eye-contact with him, noticing with vindictive glee, that her soft feminine features had morphed into unadulterated guilt.

Suddenly, two incidents occurred sequentially.

The familiar smooth, modulated voice of Regulus Black echoed in his ear, and before he knew it, he was relinquished from the body-bind curse and his wand was placed in his rightful palm. Giving his friend a brisk nod in gratitude, Severus was about to intervene and curse Potter into smithereens when all of a sudden, a pained grunt echoed around the audience and Emrys-Slytherin collapsed onto the ground, her palms firmly planted on the cool ground in an attempt to steady herself.

It was as though the scene was playing in slow motion, for once Emrys-Slytherin let out a hair-rising scream of insurmountable pain, every eye was on her, and even the foolish Marauders were frozen in place, jaws agape at the ethereal beauty whose body was currently twitching and spasming convulsively to the extent of her head hitting the ground violently. Blood began pooling through her robes from her lower back and onto the ground, and before anybody could rush to her aid, the Headmaster appeared out of nowhere, his wizened face shining with palpable worry and concern with Madam Pomfrey on his heels.

"What happened?" Pomfrey sternly demanded, effortlessly pushing through the crowd and dropping down to Emrys-Slytherin's side and waving her wand in dizzying circles and zigzagged motions.

"Sir, we, I –" James spluttered, unable to articulate a coherent sentence as his hazel orbs stared intensely at the now unconscious girl. And even though she was now comatose, her body showed no signs of ceasing its persistent seizures.

Despite the situation, Severus had to quash the burst of hysterical laughter that threatened to expel itself from his throat when the Headmaster probed Lupin due to his 'Prefect' stature – Emrys-Slytherin was dead on when she claimed Lupin was undeserving of his badge.

"Sir, we, uh," Remus nervously cleared his throat, his amber orbs flickered to Severus' sneering visage before connecting with the soft blue orbs of the kindly Headmaster. "Emrys-Slytherin and us, we were arguing and she, she just _dropped_ and began shaking, I don't know…" he trailed off, unable to speak anymore.

" _Oh my_! _Albus_!" Pomfrey shrieked in palpable horror, garnering the Headmaster's attention. Since Severus and Regulus were the only ones who stood behind Emrys-Slytherin's unconscious form, they were the only ones to witness the revolting image and both adamantly tried to swallow back bile, their faces paling in identical horror. Madam Pomfrey managed to uncover the source of her bleeding… distorted and jagged shapes of lettering were carved violently on the pale skin of her lower back, depicting the words, ' _ORPHAN WHORE_ ', where the blood was clotted, it was now bleeding profusely onto the floor.

The Headmaster's face twisted into unadulterated rage, the effervescent twinkle completely eradicated from his soft blue orbs behind his half-moon spectacles, and now resembled a glacier. In one swift motion, he waved his wand, bandaging the offensive invective from sight, and addressed the aghast matron, "Poppy, levitate Lady Emrys-Slytherin to a private wing in the Hospital away from prying students. I shall join you momentarily." His words were spoken firmly, allowing no room for argument, and Madam Pomfrey immediately acquiesced, blowing her nose loudly into a handkerchief as she levitated the unconscious redhead from the scene.

"Sir?" James nervously uttered, drawing the Headmaster's attention to his fidgeting form, "Did we, what I mean to say, are we-, is it our fault?"

Despite his thunderous disposition, Dumbledore flashed his godson a benign smile and slowly shook his head, "No, Mr. Potter, what ails Lady Emrys-Slytherin was beyond your doing. Her irritation and spike of temper had a few… untoward effect on her health, fret not. Now, don't you _all_ have classes to get to?"

The miens of a few Slytherins changed noticeably at the Headmasters words, for they were all deft in the Dark Arts, and they knew the hidden meaning behind his vague words. Emrys-Slytherin was suffering from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse, and this more than ever, caused Regulus Black to finally vomit the bile that had been lodged in his throat. The realization of the torture curse being placed on her for hours coupled with the violent scarring on her lower back vehemently perturbed the younger Black into hurling his insides.

Severus went to vanish the bile, but the Headmaster was quicker and as every student emptied the vicinity, he calmly addressed them, "Messrs. Black and Snape, I implore you to respect Lady Emrys-Slytherin's wish for privacy and not utter a word of what you have accidentally seen."

"Of course, sir, I promise," and Severus meant it, after all, Emrys-Slytherin would not be in her current state if it weren't for her defending him against the Marauders, and he wished to repay the debt by keeping her secret.

Regulus nodded vigorously, his certain dislike for the Headmaster put at bay for the moment as his curiosity spiked, "Headmaster, do you, do you know how Lady Emrys-Slytherin received those marks?"

"No, Mr. Black, sadly I do not."

 **S** carlett had been unconscious for the entirety of two days. It didn't take long for Madam Pomfrey to recognize her symptoms for being the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse much to her horror. Unfortunately, no student or teacher ever suffered from the Unforgivable – that she knew of – therefore, there was no potion reliever to halt the spasms, and she was given no choice but to take a leaf from the study of Muggle Healers. After an hour of intense research through some of her Muggle healing books, Madam Pomfrey informed the Headmaster that hugging Scar would stimulate the nerve ending.

Albus elected himself and held the trembling redhead in his arms, shocked that he already viewed the brave girl as a granddaughter and much to his delight, her spasms ceased an hour later. But the wait ensued, and in two days, word about her spread throughout the castle like wildfire, and after many nosy individuals attempted to sneak into the Hospital Wing to chance a glance at her, an enraged Albus threatened to give every student a week of detention, effectively stopping them.

It was on the fifth day that a weary and worried Headmaster finally received a patronus from Madam Pomfrey informing him that Scar had finally awoken and was asking for him. He wasted no time in rushing over to her bedside, only to meet sharp warped eyes.

"How did you know?" she croaked.

Albus couldn't help it, he chuckled jovially; the girl would never cease to amaze him. She woke up mere minutes ago, and already her astute mind was whirring with activity and demanding answers.

"Know what, my dear?" he feigned obliviousness, depositing himself in the chair by her bed he had been residing in ever since her admittance to the Hospital Wing.

Scar flashed him a no-nonsense glare, wincing slightly when she tried to sit up, "Madam Pomfrey told me of your timely arrival. How. Did. You. Know?"

"My dear child, Hogwarts informed me."

" _Hogwarts_?" Scar blurted out, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows nearly disappearing under her hairline at the improbable words the Headmaster spoke with such nonchalance.

"You are Lady _Slytherin_ , Scar," Albus chastised her slightly, though the bright smile never dropped from his visage. "Hogwarts will _always_ protect you, for you own part of her. Consider yourself lucky, for you are the only student in this castle and in centuries that managed to procure _sentient help_."

 **A/N: ****I am sooooo sorry for the delay, Dear Readers! Do forgive me, I am just so overwhelmed with updating all my other stories. I will try and get chapter 6 out soon.**

 **So, we have finally seen Severus Snape & Regulus Black (though he played a small part in this chapter). Orphan Whore? What do you think? This fem! Harry is completely different from canon, and she suffered a lot more. Like I told you, this will be different from most changing the future stories.**

 **What did you think of Gerald Marchbanks? He is a brilliant OC that will play an important part later on. I know that the Marauders seem a bit OOC, but before they were impacted by the war, they were pretty prejudiced over Slytherins and ilk, so be patient with me, I won't be bashing them forever.**

 **Next chapter; a conversation between Scar & Dumbledore, and ****_maybe_** **…** **we will delve into the mind of Sirius Black and a few others.**

 **R &R.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: ****All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **A/N:** ** _**Bold Italic**:: **Flashbacks.**_**

 **I have received quite a few complaints about favoring the Slytherins and showing the Marauders in a horrible light; all I can say is that you must be** ** _patient!_** **I am not depicting the Slytherins as innocent people, but showing that evil is not born, but made. I will obviously show the Slytherins in bad lighting as the story progresses and I will show the good sides of the Light as well; it goes both ways. My story is studying** ** _all the aspects_** **of every individual's personality. I will only be bashing Voldemort, Bellatrix, Wormtail and a few countless others; this is NOT a Marauder Bashing story, but I am merely showing how close-minded they were before Wormtail's betrayal. Now, onto another topic; if you don't like the style of this story, then don't read it, I am not forcing you. But please be patient. I myself adore James and Sirius and will be showing them in an awesome perspective later on.**

 **Chapter 6:** **C** **old-Hearted Confessions:**

 _September 14_ _th_ _, 1976;_

 **E** ven before Scarlett Sage Potter became aware of her heritage and started her education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the redhead was no stranger to hospitals; raised in the Dursleys' household, it was unavoidable. Dudley Dursley was the apple of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's eyes, and to them, their Ickle Dudleykins could do no wrong. From the age of five, her fat lump of a cousin was indoctrinated into despising the very ground Scar walked on, and to view her like his parents did: _a freak!_ On one _memorable occasion_ , Aunt Petunia had called her the spawn of Satan; Uncle Vernon, an obdurate and hateful man, was intransigent that she was an abomination of human life. Four-years-old Scarlett, whose only wish every birthday in the confines of her dark and dingy cupboard was to be loved and to comprehend _why_ her relatives held such malice towards her. It wasn't until she accidentally dropped the bacon she had been forced to cook at the age of five, that the redhead had a small inkling; Uncle Vernon lashed out at her, whipping her with his belt until she was raw and red, left in agony and bleeding on the floor of her cupboard, and the very next day, the only remnant of her Uncle's temper was the congealed blood staining her back and her clothes, but absolutely no mark.

The fear in her Uncle and Aunt's unmerciful eyes was tangible. That inexplicable incident was the catalyst to Dudley's inculcation that led to her becoming the target of neighborhood bullying and her familiarization with pain. Scars became a characteristic to her features, and an embodiment of her existence; collecting scars became a habit and soon enough, by the time she turned nine, Scarlett made it a hobby to count the marks that littered her body in the solitude darkness of her cupboard – the room her relatives allowed her to call her own out of the _goodness_ of their hearts.

Scarlett had become conversant with hospitals when she was six-years-old; Dudley had went too far and pushed her down three flights of stairs leaving her with two broken ribs, a broken arm, a broken left leg and a sprained right ankle. Little Scarlett had immediately been left alone in her cupboard for four days in excruciating pain, and when Aunt Petunia finally allowed her reprieve, it wasn't until she met Hagrid on her eleventh birthday did Scarlett finally discover the reason behind her Aunt and Uncle's fervent confusion before their emotions morphed into fear. They expected her magic to heal her, but it didn't, and after a week stint in the hospital, Dudley was forbidden to harm her again. For six months, Scarlett felt joy and relief, foolishly believing that her critical condition scared her relatives to the prospect of losing her and that they finally loved her like they did Dudley; and then another unfathomable incident occurred when her Aunt sheared her beautiful crimson locks, leaving her with only a fringe to hide that _horrible scar_. Upon awakening the next day, she had a full head of hair again, ringlets cascading to her shoulders, and the fear in her Uncle and Aunt's eyes returned tenfold, along with fury, and the mistreatment of her person resumed once again.

When Scarlett revisited the hospital because of Dudley and his gang, the bullying continued and she was allowed no reprieve. Little Scarlett Potter who lacked any friends or intellectual conversation with another human being, who lacked the tender care of an adult, innocent touches and genuine smiles directed upon her person, found herself morbidly enjoying her stints at the hospital due to the kindly nurses and smiling doctors. Through word of mouth initiated by her Aunt to cover her Dudders' gross wrongdoings, Scarlett Potter was a renowned clumsy girl who constantly harmed herself and landed in the hospitals. And then, innocent emerald gems were opened to the fantastical magical world, her heritage, the place where she belonged, and the reason why her relatives perceived her as an abomination, and her stints in the hospital never ceased.

Scarlett Sage _Emrys-Slytherin_ had awoken in the Hospital Wing two days ago, and just as she expected, Madam Pomfrey restrained her for the entirety of two extra days before she saw it fit to allow her reprieve back to the castle. Due to the many perilous situations and innumerable adventures Scar had lived through, she was intimately familiar with the strict yet tender Matron and knew it to be a lost cause to argue with her over her release. Damaged eyes lit up with joy when she found herself lying in the familiar bed Poppy reserved just for her sake; after her third year at Hogwarts, Scar was assigned her very own personal bed in the Hospital Wing, and as a joke, her beloved Fred created her own golden plaque with her name inscribed on it in cursive writing, hung over her bed.

Yes, Scarlett Potter was no stranger to hospitals, be it in the Muggle or Wizarding World, and it was a recurring joke in the Gryffindor common room during her fifth year for Scar to become a Healer after graduation instead of an Auror.

 ** _**"What is it this time, Miss Potter?" Madam Pomfrey stared at the sheepish redhead in exasperation as she was led to her personal bed by an amused Ron and an appalled Hermione. Adopting a look of complete innocence that didn't fool the strict Matron in the least bit, Scar said, "Well, you see, it's not_** **exactly** ** _my fault. I was with Professor Flitwick for our private lessons and I was a bit overenthusiastic with a new spell I learnt… I'm just y'know, suffering from magical exhaustion. But, Professor Flitwick said I improved." She added as a bonus, a proud smile flittering on her face._**

 ** _Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips to repress the twitching of a smile as she tried to glare sternly at her favorite and regular patient, "Miss Potter! I assume you're suffering from magical exhaustion because you have been tiring yourself_** **before** ** _your allotted lessons, am I correct?"_**

 ** _Scar found herself intrigued with the patterns on the wall opposite her bed and didn't deign the strict Matron with a response, giving leeway for an affronted Hermione to butt in and show her immense disapproval, "She hasn't put her wand away since her last lesson with Professor Flitwick_** **two days ago** ** _, and she only had four hours of sleep since then!" Ron had to shove his fist in his mouth to muffle his chuckles and with another look of disdain, their bushy-haired best friend continued, "Today she used a Nightmare Curse she discovered last night and didn't bother learning the repercussions of casting such a potent spell for the first time."_**

 ** _Tutting loudly, Madam Pomfrey began bustling around, grabbing three nauseating looking potions and forcibly pressing them in the defiant redhead's hand, looming over her like a hawk until every last drop was guzzled down. With a look of utter disgust, Scar whined, "Why do they all have to taste like dragon dung? Not that I know what it tastes like, but–" she was cut off by the loud laughter of Ron and even Hermione joined in. Not amused in the slightest, Madam Pomfrey puffed up in apoplectic anger, "If you don't want to imbibe potions then you'll take care of yourself. Honestly, I've seen you in my Wing more than your father and his friends! And that is a feat in itself!"_**

 ** _Ordered to remain in her personal bed at the Hospital Wing for an entire day until her core returned to full strength, Scar was going stark mad with boredom until Fred walked in with a wrapped parcel in his hand and an uncertain look on his usually confident and mischievous visage._**

 ** _"_** ** _Fred? What's up? Did the toad do something or was it one of your prank products?" Scar had always been able to identify between the twins ever since she first met them at the Hogwarts Express, a feat that garnered their respect as even their own mother sometimes had trouble distinguishing between them. With a nervous chuckle, Fred sat beside her and to her surprise, interlocked his hand with hers. "Fred, wha-"_**

 ** _But Fred placed a finger over her lips and quickly took the plunge. "Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I've been attached to you, Scar. Over the years as we've both matured, well, you more than me," he added cheekily before turning solemn again. "I've come to realize that I'm,_** **I'm in love with you** ** _Scarlett Sage Potter, and I know-_** **I know** ** _you're hurting over Cedric, and I know you'll_** **always** ** _love him and I wouldn't ask for anything else. I just, I want to know if you have enough room in your heart for me and that you would someday learn to love me like you did him." Handing over the wrapped parcel to the dumbfounded redhead, he exhaled loudly before ripping off the last Band-Aid. "Would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?" he asked hopefully, a boatload of emotion seeping into his tone._**

 ** _Rendered speechless, Scar focused her attention on the parcel and meticulously unwrapped it; getting presents was an unusual occurrence for her before Hogwarts and she always reveled in the unwrapping of each and every present bestowed to her. A loud sigh of awe escaped her lips when her ravaged eyes met the rectangular golden plaque with her full name written on it._**

 ** _"_** ** _It's for you to hang over this bed seeing as Madam Pomfrey reserved it for you," Fred grinned gaining a smidge of confidence with her positive reaction. It was no surprise to the denizens of Hogwarts that Scarlett Potter was a weekly regular at the Hospital Wing after all._**

 ** _Stroking her last name, a tear fell down from her ivory cheeks and with a sniff, she said, "Yes. Yes, Fred Weasley, I will be your girlfriend!"**_**

"Are you alright?" a hoarse voice uttered from beside her, snapping Scar from her reverie. A tear had unconsciously slipped from her eye and she hastened to wipe it away before her gaze connected with weary amber ones, and it suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks; yesterday was the full moon! Probably while she was fast asleep, Remus was admitted into the Hospital Wing without her knowledge.

With a strained smile, Scar nodded mutely before scanning the sliver of uncovered skin; she felt a pang in her chest at the sight of the new ugly gashes. Never before had Scar ever considered the hellish nights of the full moon her honorary uncle was forced to transform before the creation of the Wolfsbane Potion; it must be so painful for him to attack himself before James, Sirius and Pettigrew succeeded in becoming Animagi. "You look like crap," Scar bluntly informed him and Remus's amber orbs widened at the rare smile she bestowed him with. "You okay?"

Shifting nervously, Remus warily glanced at her, shocked at the genuine concern in her tone and blurted out the first excuse that popped into his head, "Yes, just a small tussle with a Hippogriff." The second the words came tumbling out of the werewolf's mouth, he squeezed his eyes shut and winced at the lame excuse that was palpably a lie and he merely waited for Emrys-Slytherin to scoff and spit out a derisive comment. He was shocked to the core when he heard the beautiful melody of tinkling giggles and his eyes widened in awe at the exuberant expression on her face.

"Prideful blighters aren't they?" Scar grinned, conversing with him as though in a conspiratorial manner. "Growing up in my village, we had a large forest, quite like the Forbidden Forest here at Hogwarts. In my village, all the adults with an affinity in a particular subject would tutor the children that preferred to be home-schooled than study abroad at an elaborate institution. Our Care of Magical Creatures Professor brought out a horde of Hippogriffs when I was thirteen and after a hearty lecture, started off with an offer to _pet_ the Hippogriff," she chuckled, and Remus found himself absorbed in the regale of the enigmatic girl nobody knew anything about. "Well, naturally, I quickly complied. Unlike my peers, I am very brazen, reckless and according to a fair lot, a foolishly brave and impulsive girl. After I petted the damn blighter, my Professor actually lifted me up, dumped me on the Hippogriff and smacked its rear. Without warning, I might add."

"You _flew_ a Hippogriff?" Remus asked in unmistakable awe. How many times had James and Sirius whined nonstop to Hagrid and Professor Kettleburn, pleading to fly one of the many Hippogriffs that dwelled in the forest, to no avail. One thing for sure, they would envy Emrys-Slytherin if they found out.

Scar laughed as though she were recalling an inside joke, "Oh, yes. You see, my Professor was quite an enthusiastic man; thinks all magical creatures are as harmful as a pygmy puff. If you only knew all the stories I have collected about that ridiculous man." A fond expression overtook her beautiful features, and Remus could hear the palpable love and respect she held to her Professor. "Anyways, once I landed, one of my rivals, _arch nemesis_ really, ever since we were eleven, was green with envy and stalked over like a proud peacock and moronically _insulted_ the Hippogriff. Let's just say he looked worse off than you," she added cheekily.

"Where's your professor now? I mean-, why enroll at Hogwarts? You seem, well, from what you've told me, you were happy being home-schooled," Remus felt like he was partaking in an out of world experience. He was actually having a decent and friendly conversation with Emrys-Slytherin, a feat that he never thought possible of occurring.

Her plump lips contorted into a bitter smile and her face that was radiating utmost happiness and fondness, now dulled completely, her ruined eyes lacking its previous sparkle, "My village was destroyed, Mr. Lupin. I am the only one left."

 **S** irius Black had an ego as vast as the sky; endless. And he knew it. Sirius Black was confident, and why wouldn't he be? He had the devastatingly handsome looks of a Greek God, a brilliant mind, a natural affinity to magic, was impressively talented and recklessly brave; he had a charming personality that got him whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and a great sense of humor. Sirius Black was exceedingly rich, one of the wealthiest and prestigious families in the entire Wizarding World, and he was the Heir to the Noble and most Ancient Family of Black, part of the Sacred 28, and although it didn't matter to him, Sirius Black was a Pureblood.

It may seem to others that Sirius Black had it all and was the luckiest person in existence; but they were sadly mistaken. You see, all Sirius ever wanted, was to be loved, cherished and adored by his family, by his own blood; even his blasted house-elf despised him and took great pleasure in getting him into trouble with his banshee of a mother. Walburga Black was an extreme Pureblood Supremacist, and was a major contributor to the spouting of Pureblood propaganda with an unhealthy yet impressive repertoire in racial slurs that would make a sailor blush and even Lucifer himself, to be scandalized. When Walburga went into a rage, she was the perfect replica of a banshee in heat, and Sirius, with his reckless bravado and his pride in being the Black Sheep of the family, made it his life mission to provoke her.

The resulting factor was that Sirius was no stranger to being the victim of dark curses, brutal beatings and his _dear mother's_ personal favorite, the _Cruciatus Curse._ Walburga however, ensured that he never remained under the torture curse for long since she didn't want him to lose his mind and suffer the excruciating aftereffects, but Sirius was knowledgeable in the intricacies of the Unforgivable Curse, and one rare incident left him with sporadic tremors for a week; the punishment he received when he returned for Yule after his sorting into Gryffindor. For that particular reason, when Emrys-Slytherin collapsed onto the ground before his very eyes, palpitating with violent seizures, Sirius met the wide orbs of his brother Regulus who stood beside Snivellus and _he knew_. They _both_ did.

A terrified James questioned the Headmaster for reassurance to his guilty conscience, and the Headmaster's vague response cemented the elder Black's suspicion. Emrys-Slytherin was a victim of the Cruciatus Curse; and not just a low voltage of the Unforgivable… no, Emrys-Slytherin was under the taboo curse for probably days or weeks on end, and he hated the fact that he was questioning her and her intentions, but worst of all, he hated the fact that he was questioning himself. He hated the fact that the gorgeous redhead he held malicious feelings for was in fact, an innocent and a victim to Dark Magic. And therein lie the contradiction; Sirius Black had an affinity for magic; him coming from a strictly dark family and tutored since the day he could walk, on a large repertoire of Dark and Grey spells and its intricacies, Sirius could sense magic as though it were an intimate companion. A secret that Sirius covertly kept and only confided in James, was that he had a talent for recognizing magical signatures, and he sensed Emrys-Slytherin's aura to be vile, filled with blackness and so palpably dark.

"Padfoot, snap out of it," James nudged his best friend, emitting a startled yelp out of him. Hazel orbs filled with mirth, James dragged Sirius out of the vacant Defense classroom alongside Wormtail, "Come on, let's go visit Moony." His full attention made a hasty return, knowing that they left their friend with Emrys-Slytherin in the Hospital Wing and the three Marauders darted over there without pausing at the Great Hall for lunch. Upon their entrance, Sirius found his footsteps stilling at the sound of the redhead's melodious laughter. James, born with innate natural curiosity, had them both ducking behind a corner of the private wing and eavesdropping on the conversation taking place.

Sirius was not the only bewildered one as they overheard Emrys-Slytherin reminiscing to Moony about her experience with a Hippogriff, and just like Remus mentally predicted, both him and Prongs were salivating over the fact that she flew a Hippogriff, and were in fact, extremely jealous, but also, felt a smidge of awe. Remus' question had them burning with curiosity and they stiffened when the state of her village was revealed. Done with their bout of eavesdropping now that the ambience was radiating with a somber mood, James burst in, face all smiles and twinkling eyes, unable to spare the redhead a glance due to their last memorable interaction.

"Moony! Feeling better, mate?" James boisterously exclaimed. Wormtail scuttled behind Prongs, whimpering at their close proximity with the redhead, but Sirius, never one to back down, captured eye contact with those ruined irises, his silvery-grey eyes turning stormy with malice, an emotion the redhead never failed to bring out in him.

Smiling amicably, Remus nodded, "Madam Pomfrey wants me to stay till dinner." Finally detaching his orbs from hers, inwardly enraged that she never backed down either, Sirius let out his patent bark-like laugh, "I'm telling you, Moony, Poppy favors you too much."

"I don't recall giving you permission to use my first name, Mr. Black," Poppy suddenly materialized behind him, prompting him to flash her his most charming smile, and although she was unaffected, he glowed at the success of achieving a small twitching of her mouth. "Miss Emrys-Slytherin, before you leave, about your scar-"

"Madam Pomfrey," Emrys-Slytherin instantly interrupted. "I already told you its permanent. I'm used to it," she shrugged nonchalantly, her orbs focusing on the opposite wall, stirring the Marauders' curiosity. It was obvious that the redhead didn't want them to overhear her ailment and the Matron pursed her lips in annoyance, "Very well, Miss Emrys-Slytherin. One last matter then, although your tremors have subsided, you _are_ at risk of collapsing again."

Emrys-Slytherin sighed loudly, and it sounded like a recurring subject between them from the identical looks of annoyance on both of their faces. "I have a solution, Madam Pomfrey. The Headmaster had a word with Professor Slughorn; I will be able to concoct my own remedy-"

"Which you are adamant in not divulging. How am I supposed to treat you if you do not confide in me," Madam Pomfrey snapped, shocking the Marauders as they have never before seen the stern yet kindly Matron so distressed. With a secret smile, Emrys-Slytherin simply uttered, "It's a family secret, Madam. I am sorry but I cannot disclose it with you."

Just as Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth to further her argument, the Headmaster appeared in their line of vision with a benign smile and Sirius was dumbfounded at the pure fondness on his wizened face as he neared Emrys-Slytherin's bedside.

"That is enough, Poppy," he uttered, an undercurrent in his voice that instantly closed the topic. Muttering angrily under her breath, Madam Pomfrey bustled out of sight and slammed her private office shut with an audible bang that nearly shook the foundation. Grinning down at the redhead, the Headmaster chuckled, "Poppy is not happy with either of us."

"Ah, she'll get over it soon enough," Emrys-Slytherin cheekily retorted, immediately jumping out of bed.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at the Marauders, "Ah, Messrs. Black, Potter, Lupin and Pettigrew. How are you all on this fine day?"

"I'll be great if you have a lemon drop on you," Sirius grinned with mirth, eliciting a chuckle from the wizened wizard as he donated a few of his addictive sweets to the Marauders. "I do hope you do not cause trouble, Poppy is not in an engaging mood at the moment. Scarlett," he abruptly turned to the redhead as she emerged from the bathroom fully clothed. "Shall we? We have much to discuss."

"Like I have a choice, old man," Emrys-Slytherin muttered, and the Marauders were rendered speechless at the genuine laughter that erupted from Dumbledore as they retreated from the Hospital Wing. A flummoxed James spoke in a hush, "How can Dumbledore trust her? She's a descendant of Slytherin for Merlin's sake!"

Sirius shook his head, too dumbfounded to articulate a few words. Remus on the other hand, squirmed uncomfortably, "She's not bad, you guys." Being the recipient to three outraged miens of disbelief, Remus clarified, "She was actually concerned about my health, and I foolishly gave her a horrible excuse for being here and although I clearly saw the disbelief on her features, she didn't push and actually confided in me a story of her past."

" _Please_ , that Hippogriff story? Yeah, we heard everything. She's a Slytherin, Moony. Being sneaky and cunning is in her blood, she easily manipulated you to gain your trust. Don't be so gullible," Sirius defiantly stated, and although James and Peter nodded in instant agreement, he could tell that Remus was still uncertain.

 **R** olling her ravaged eyes at the Headmaster's damn twinkling once they were ensconced in the privacy of his office, Scar huffed, "Spit it out, Dumbledore."

"I am merely curious over this clandestine potion that strictly needs to remain in the _family_ ," Albus airily stated, resting his chin on his long, interlocked fingers, his soft blue orbs twinkling merrily. Scar snorted and waved a hand in the air, "Well, it's not like I can broadcast a potion that had yet to be created now, can I?"

"Tell me about it?"

Examining her fingernails, Scar sighed in a placating manner before smirking at the wizened wizard she perceived as a grandfather, "Right. In the future, your spy who so happened to be a brilliant Potions Master, succeeded in creating a neutralizer for the Cruciatus Curse; it basically counteracts the aftereffects of the curse, but it doesn't by any means heal you. It must be taken twice a day for a week, then once a day the next week, and lastly once a week until the sporadic tremors are completely gone, depending on how long you have been under the curse. It wasn't created until after the First War when the aforementioned Death Eater spy had more free time to leisurely experiment, and he finally created the neutralizer. So after our meeting I need to take leave from Hogwarts and quickly dash over to Diagon alley for the ingredients."

Albus' eyes were alight with interest, "You may use my fireplace. I have a private Floo network that would be beneficial to your cause, just ensure nobody discovers you are allowed leave from the castle otherwise I wouldn't hear the end of it, especially from Minerva." There was a beat of silence before Albus, unable to take the suspense any longer, inquired, "I don't suppose you are willing to divulge the identity of the spy?"

Albus would vehemently deny if asked, but he felt horribly uncomfortable under Scarlett's scrutinizing gaze. Those ravaged eyes were looking right through him as though studying whether or not he was worth disclosing to. Nodding her head once, Scar leveled him with an intense glare, "Actually, I find myself unable to keep it a secret any longer after previous… _events_. The brilliant spy is Severus Snape." Albus' jaw dropped in such a comical fashion, and if the situation weren't so severe, the redhead would have laughed jovially, "Youngest Potions Master and a stellar in mind magic. He being an accomplished Occlumens had him successfully fooling Voldemort until his inevitable death."

"Mr. Snape becomes a Death Eater?" Albus whispered, his wizened face morphing into sadness.

"Yes," Scar snapped, unable to hold her disapproval in any longer. " _Your_ _inaction_ for the past _five_ _years_ was a motivational factor for a smart, powerful and brave wizard to seek solace in Voldemort's evil clutches, indoctrinating his belief and twisting his mind. Now, I am not solely placing the blame on you, Dumbledore, the fault partly lies with him for giving up toward the end. This Yule, he will vow his allegiance and by next summer, he would be branded with the Dark Mark, and I cannot stop that if you allow those _Marauders_ to strut around with their bloated heads and continue harassing him. _It is unacceptable_ , Dumbledore!"

A cacophony of noise broke out from the portraits of the past Headmasters and Headmistresses, and the familiar snarky voice of Phineas Nigellus Black permeated the office, "Oho! You see Dumbledore? I told you! Didn't I tell you?! At last somebody speaks up for my House!"

Glaring at the great-great grandfather of her godfather, Scar heatedly retorted, "Oh, do shut up! Don't get me started on you, Phineas. You and I are going to have a long chat later that is well overdue, trust me on this." There was applause from the portraits and Phineas' jaw dropped as he stared at her in an appalled manner. "The way your descendants treat Sirius Black is deplorable, and if you aren't willing to consider my words, then trust me, the House of Black will become extinct a few decades from now."

The familiar stormy grey eyes of countless Black descendants examined her with fierce scrutiny, and Scar knew that her words managed to successfully shake him, but he deftly covered it up and sneered at her before pointedly looking away.

"You care about Severus? That is why you fiercely defended him, isn't it? He means something to you in the future…" Albus trailed off in uncertainty. Scar's next words however, were not an expected one; she scoffed loudly and her lips curled into a bitter smile, "He was a right bastard! A bitter man with a malicious heart who took morbid pleasure in taking out his grudge and hatred for my father and godfather on me. You see, you needed your spy to be in close proximity to you, knowing that Voldemort would surely return in the future and pursue me. Snape loathed me the second I stepped foot into the castle and he made sure to widely exclaim his disdain for me during every potions class and in the hallways. It wasn't until my fifth year that I discovered the reason for his utter cruelty towards me was merely because I was James Potter's daughter."

Shock, outrage, surprise, disbelief, turmoil; those were the emotions that passed by Albus' wizened visage, unable to believe he allowed a Professor to bully a child in his school, and yet, confused over the victim's passionate defense toward her aggressor, "Then why defend him? Why would he switch sides and why would I hire him?"

A genuine smile filled with sadness materialized on the redhead's beautiful features, "You needed a spy. Snape had to keep his cover, and in order to do that, he had to show favoritism to his snakes only. I told you of the prophecy that shaped and ruined my life, but what I did not tell you, was that Severus Snape was the Death Eater who overheard half of it." Albus was fuming, but allowed Scar to continue, "Later on, Voldemort confided in him that there were two the prophecy applied to, the child of the Potters, and the child of the Longbottoms. What Voldemort didn't know, was that Snape is in love with my mother. Him and Lily were neighbors and had established a friendship before Hogwarts. He begged Voldemort to spare Lily's life, but he didn't trust the Dark Lord to allow him this boon, and so, he ran to you, offered you his allegiance and to spy for you, all for Lily. But we were betrayed by a spy in the Order and when James and Lily were murdered and I was the lone survivor, you informed Snape that my mother sacrificed her life for mine. Not wanting her death to be in vain, he vowed to help you protect me. Severus Snape may have been a bastard and a bitter bully, but he was a brave wizard, and he continued to protect me until his dying breath, and for that, he deserves my protection."

One pearly tear drifted down from blue eyes that lost its sparkle and into his silvery beard, "He is an honorable wizard. Do you believe he can be saved?"

"I won't give up," Scar adamantly retorted. "If I have a say in it, Snape won't be branded with that accursed Mark as long as I am breathing."

Nodding his head, Albus fixed her with a solemn stare, "It has been two weeks since your arrival to the past, my dear. I believe it is time for you to include me in a few incidents, such as those nefarious words branded onto your lower back."

Scar stiffened perceptibly, her visage stoic and her ravaged eyes hardened with malice; she stubbornly looked away, disgust consuming her every fiber. Sighing sadly, Albus stood up from his chair, ambled over to the ashamed redhead's side and took the seat opposite her, clasping her hands with his in such a comforting fashion. It had been a while since Scar had been shown such affection by somebody and it caused her eyes to water with unshed tears.

"If I tell you, promise me you won't react. I hadn't planned on confiding this matter with you until after graduation."

"I promise, Scarlett. After all, we are both working together and I already swore to aid you in your endeavors," Albus softly claimed.

Roughly wiping away the few traitorous tears that escaped her eyes, Scar cleared her throat and spoke in a detached voice, "I told you that my parents were betrayed, correct? …You advised James and Lily to perform the Fidelius Charm along with the Longbottoms. Voldemort however, personally chose me to be the one of whom the prophecy spoke of, a Half-blood like him. Sirius Black, my godfather, was elected their Secret-Keeper, and on Halloween night, 1981, Voldemort murdered my parents and branded me with the scar you see on my forehead due to the rebounding of the Killing Curse."

" _No_!" Albus breathed out in distress, his eyes widening with horror, and his heart began to ache at the knowledge that one of his most favored students would turn to the Dark Side. "Sirius was the traitor?" The portrait of Phineas Black was enraptured with her confession, and while he agreed with the whole Pureblood propaganda, was truly shocked at the outcome of events from his wayward descendant.

But Scar let out a bitter chuckle, her voice oozing with scorn, "He seems like the perfect candidate, doesn't he? Sirius being a Black crucified him to a horrible future. It's so easy for everyone to believe a Black turned traitor. No, Headmaster, my godfather's only crime was that he loved fiercely and was cursed with a hotheaded temper and rash actions. My father and my godfather, no matter how mature they may be, are always and will always be Marauders, and so, they hatched a plan. Everybody knew that Sirius would no doubt be the Secret-Keeper, _so why not be a diversion to the real one?_ " she sneered, shocking the benign Headmaster with her malicious words, "Sirius was the decoy, all the Death Eaters pursued him while the _real_ Secret-Keeper was safe, hiding in his hole like the coward he is. After Voldemort's defeat, Sirius, blinded by rage and grief, gave me to Hagrid who had come for me as per your instructions, and pursued the real traitor. _Peter Pettigrew_!"

"Peter? Mr. Pettigrew will be a Death Eater?" Albus was horrified and it was plain on his visage.

"Oh no, not will be, Dumbledore. IS. Pettigrew was branded the Dark Mark during the summer holidays. That traitorous rat is already a Death Eater, playing the poster boy for a sniveling good boy of the Light in the Gryffindor common room and passing information to Voldemort. But I digress," licking her lips, Scar placed a lid on her raging temper and recovered her detached voice. "One thing you must know, and not act upon, Sirius, James and Pettigrew are all Animagi. They accomplished their transformation last year and have been keeping Remus company during the full moons." And despite the horrifying revelation, Albus couldn't help but beam proudly, his eyes regaining a slight twinkle at the impressive feat. "Pettigrew _naturally_ is a rat animagus, fitting don't you think?" she scoffed; the irony was never lost to her. "His soul, his magic, recognized him as a traitor and his best friends couldn't? His rat form should have rung alarm bells, but anyways… Sirius chased Pettigrew and cornered him by a Muggle street crowded with many eye-witnesses. Pettigrew screamed for everybody to hear, ' _James and Lily! How could you?_ ' and before Sirius could retaliate, he hit the mainline gas and blew up the street, successfully murdering twelve Muggles. The nasty coward cut off his finger, transformed into a rat and scuttled to the sewers leaving Sirius to take the blame. He framed him, and my godfather was whisked off to Azkaban without a trial."

"Preposterous! I told you, Dumbledore, the Ministry is run by fools! Morons! Corrupt! They dare imprison one from the Noble and most Ancient House of Black without a trial!" Phineas bellowed; and he wasn't the only one. All the portraits were yelling out expletives and Albus looked extremely old at that moment as his features adopted a grave expression filled with guilt.

"But, but I am Chief Warlock… surely I would have arranged a trial," Albus whispered in denial, holding on to a small sliver of hope for one of his favorite pupils.

Scar shook her head forlornly, "You yourself gave proof that Sirius was the Secret-Keeper. You didn't know, sir. Nobody knew the truth but my parents, Sirius, Voldemort and Pettigrew. Even Remus wasn't included. Bartemius Crouch Sr. didn't bother checking his wand for any spells; he lied and because Sirius was a Black, immediately locked him up. Sirius remained in Azkaban under the excruciating effects of the dementors for twelve years. I was raised by magic-hating relatives, and Pettigrew? That rat was heralded by all, awarded the _posthumous_ award of the Merlin First Class for _dying a_ _hero_ while he remained in his rat form, playing house pet with the Weasleys."

The ambience in the room turned chilly; the last time Scar ever witnessed Albus Dumbledore in such a rage was during her fifth year encounter with Voldemort in the lobby of the Ministry of Magic, after her beloved godfather's death. While Albus paced in dizzying circles in a desperate attempt to control his temper and lethal magic, Scar dutifully continued, "The Weasleys were oblivious over the fact that the rat their third son located in the garden miraculously lived for twelve years. Ron, the sixth son of the Weasleys and my best friend, kept him as a pet, given the guise _Scabbers_ were he roomed in Gryffindor Tower with me. Imagine that? The one who sold my parents out, betrayed them, framed my godfather and led many Order members to their death, roomed with me, living the luxurious life of a family pet while Sirius was left to rot, his reputation all but tarnished."

Continuing his manic pacing, Albus stated, "You said Sirius remained in Azkaban for twelve years…"

"Yes. The summer before my third year, the Weasleys won a lottery and traveled to Egypt where their eldest son, Bill was a Curse Breaker for Gringotts, and they appeared on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. It was as though Lady Luck shone on Sirius, for on that day, the bumbling fool of Minister went to Azkaban for an inspection and Sirius asked for the paper, said he missed doing the crossword puzzle," and here, Scar laughed. "Sirius retained his sanity because of his animagus form. You see, dementors cannot sense animals. Sirius recognized Pettigrew's form due to the innumerable times he saw him transform and broke out of Azkaban by sliding through the door in his animagus form and swimming to the mainland."

"Impressive," Albus halted in his pacing and returned to his accustomed seat. "Of course Sirius would manage to achieve the impossible and be the first to break out of a highly guarded fortress."

Scar smirked. "Believe it or not, that was the least dangerous year for me. The Minister forced your hand and had dementors stationed at Hogwarts for _my safety_. Inept idiot," she muttered under her breath; no matter what timeline Scar was in, she would never forgive Fudge, especially for the smearing campaign during her fifth year. "You had Remus teach Defense Against the Dark Arts that year to keep me safe and protect him from Sirius in case he targeted him. _Scabbers_ became sickly, terrified that Sirius would find him and at the end of the year, I discovered the truth and was reunited with my godfather. Unfortunately, Pettigrew escaped and the sniveling rat had nobody to turn to. Sirius became a fugitive, unable to raise me and we had nothing to prove his innocence. Only you believed me and aided in his escape."

"And Pettigrew?" Albus probed.

A dark scowl emerged on the redhead's face. "He returned to Voldemort and played a huge role in his return to power. I won't go into excruciating details, but that year the Triwizard Tournament was reinstated and despite your Age Line and the many precautions set in place, a Death Eater disguised as our Defense Professor entered my name. The Third Task, me and my boyfriend, the chosen Hogwarts Champion decided to both grab the cup since it was a Hogwarts win either way, and the cup turned out to be a Portkey. Pettigrew k-k-killed him," large sobs wracked her body and Albus' wizened face dulled considerably; yes, Scar loved Fred, but she never stopped loving Cedric. "Cedric didn't see it coming. The Killing Curse," her voice quaked with every syllable. "In my paralyzed grief, Pettigrew had the upper hand and tied me to Tom Riddle Sr.'s grave; _bone of the Father, flesh of the Servant, and blood of thy Enemy_. Voldemort had a corporeal form."

"Such a Black Ritual. Oh, Tom, how far gone are you," Albus whispered to himself, unable to imagine what Scarlett went through.

She chuckled darkly, "Oh, he's far gone, Dumbledore. We dueled, and I was winning, I scampered off to the Portkey and just as I summoned it to me and C-Cedr-, _his_ body, Voldemort's spell impacted on me. A Blasting Curse. His body managed to return with the cup to Hogwarts and I? I was Voldemort's _esteemed_ prisoner."

"No. No, oh my dear child," Albus placed a numb hand over his mouth, eyes devoid of its natural merry twinkling as he stared at the emotionless redhead in a horrified trance. He could now see, clear as the day, that Scarlett had been deeply traumatized by her capture and it was a catalyst to her change from an innocent child, and although a part of him wanted to put an end to her confessions, another part of him needed to know, after all, he did ask.

"They say the longer you are under the effects of the Cruciatus Curse, you become insane. I know two people who were tortured to insanity and were permanently housed in a Ward at St. Mungo's," Scar whispered, rubbing her arms from the goosebumps as Albus and the portraits stared intently at her figure. "My magic was too strong, my will to survive knew no bounds. I believe many would prefer death over what I went through. I spent forty-one days locked up in a dingy cell with only two visitors to gloat at me. Voldemort and _Pettigrew_. I spent half the day screaming hoarsely under the intense and unbearable pain of the Cruciatus Curse from Voldemort's wand, and the other half being raped and brutally beaten by a wizard who spent his youth as my father's alleged best friend, and he forever branded me with the words you managed to perceive with a cursed blade. I hold the memory of the entirety of my capture and carry it around as a reminder everywhere I go. Eyes that used to be the color of pure emeralds inherited from my mother are now warped and ruined due to the Cruciatus Curse. It damaging my nerves and left my eyes permanently disfigured; not even magic can fix it."

Fawkes trilled mournfully, encompassing the room with his beautiful melody. The phoenix settled himself on Scar's shoulder and gave her enough strength to snap out of the tormented memories she was forced to relive whenever her eyes were closed, even for a nanosecond.

"How-How, how did you escape? Did I rescue you?" Albus choked out, unable to think coherently, and the next words caused his heart to drop.

"No. But not for the lack of trying," Scar smiled in understanding, showing him that she didn't blame him, a sentiment the wizened Headmaster appreciated but in no means made him feel any better. "I was barely left in solitude, except when they were all asleep. For that reason, I barely slept myself, not that I _could._ During the entirety of my imprisonment, I spent every second practicing wandless magic, and then one day, when Pettigrew visited me for his vile _needs_ , _I killed him_ with a wandless Cutting Hex, effectively slitting his throat. I was too weak to bring him along and prove Sirius' innocence. My survival instincts kicked in and I ran, and ran. I ran until I reached a town full of people. Luckily, one of my best friends was a Muggleborn and I had her phone number memorized. I called her and remained hidden in a dark alley until the next day. You personally came for me, but I was a changed girl. I was awoken to the brutality of the war and became stronger for it. I no longer believe in remorse; it's a kill or be killed world, and I became the most feared individual of the Light and I took down many Death Eaters with me."

Pride engulfed the wizened Headmaster, but fear did too. An innocent and untouched soul became tarnished by Tom's cruelty and began to dabble in Dark Magic, and yet… she had a pure heart and would gladly die for the Light and for peace in the Magical Community.

 _Yes, Albus Dumbledore was starting to rethink his beliefs regarding second chances._

* * *

 _September 15_ _th_ _, 1976;_

 **S** car's confession with the Headmaster left her numb and in a despondent state. She decided to postpone her visit to Diagon Alley for the next day since it was a Saturday and there were no classes. Shrouded from head to toe in a hooded dragon hide black cloak, Scar strolled over to the Apothecary and meticulously picked out the ingredients for the neutralizer potion; she had always been grateful for inheriting her mother's aptitude in potions, and even Snape had no vitriolic comments to spare in regards to her outstanding brewing whenever he swooped over her like a bat during classes.

The calming ambience in the Wizarding Alley however, was interrupted by a loud blast and the subsequent shattering of glass that was consecutively followed by a plethora of frightened screams, but one woman's shrill yell echoed clearly in the hardened survivor's head.

" _DEATH EATERS!_ "

 **A/N: ****I am so sorry for the Cliff-hanger! Don't hate me… XD**

 **I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I know not much happened, but like I said, this is a slow story and will be moving at a slow rate. I am adding Scar's background because it is important to show how her upbringing and her life was** ** _completely_** **different from canon Harry.**

 **Dumbledore and Scarlett will be a team and so, it is important to show their bonding. Next chapter however, will have more action and the introduction of more characters, especially a certain deranged Black; hint hint. XD**

 **R &R.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **A/N:** ** _**Bold Italic**:: **Flashbacks.**_**

 **Chapter 7:** **Accident & Accidental:**

 _September 15_ _th_ _, 1976;_

 **T** here is an existential concept that is said to be as old as humanity, an irksome law for all intents and purposes, that is portrayed as the personification of Scarlett Sage Potter's life; a law which haunts her every move and remains hidden behind a corner, lurking, and waiting for the perfect moment – or in Scar's case, the worst possible moment – to pounce and wreak havoc. The aforementioned, accursed law ruling Scar's life with an iron fist is called _Murphy's Law_ , given the epigram: _anything that can go wrong,_ will _go wrong._ During her horrid childhood, whenever she had bouts of accidental magic, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, her relatives would be the ones to witness the unfeasible feat. Escaping the graveyard after the Third Task, the curse managed to impact with Scar when she was a hairsbreadth away to her freedom with the corpse of her beloved and recently deceased boyfriend. During Umbridge's crusade, when Dobby warned the D.A. of her impending arrival, out of the forty members, only Scar had been unlucky enough to get caught by none other than her nemesis, Draco Malfoy. Many other examples could be stated, but the most crucial one would be regarding the ill-fated prophecy that shaped and ruined her entire life; out of the two nominated children born as the seventh month dies, Voldemort chose Scarlett Potter.

Suffice to say, Murphy's Law had an unhealthy, a disturbing, and a gruesome addiction to the Girl-Who-Lived, and as it appeared, travelling to the past didn't change a thing. In fact, the accursed and irksome law managed to fetter itself to the rechristened Lady Scarlett Sage Emrys-Slytherin before her imminent birth.

For that reason, when Scar went to leave the apothecary at Diagon Alley, the arrival of a horde of Death Eaters didn't surprise her in the slightest. In all actuality, while the myriad of denizens cowered in fear, or ducked behind some solid stationary, or for the particularly few brave souls who brandished their wands and charged headfirst into the fray, those in close proximity to Scar found themselves astonished and bemused when the hooded figure didn't even bat an eyelash. Instead, they were shocked to hear her mutter to herself in a mixture of annoyance and exasperation, _"_ _Why am I even surprised?!"_

Naturally, out of every single day of the week, and out of the twenty-four hours in a day, the Death Eaters would end up attacking on the exact day and the specific time she so happened to be in the Alley. _Fantastic!_

Scar kept her purchases on the counter since it was best to not allow any outside magic to interfere with magical ingredients meant for brewing, and if anyone were to see the face beneath the hood, they would have quailed in fear, for Scar had a sinister grin on her beautiful visage and she was practically palpitating with excitement; oh how she had missed the thrill of dueling, the thrill that came with the expression: _kill or be killed_. Call her crazy, but Scar had long ago accepted the fact that her life would revolve around wars and capturing the scum of the earth.

Exiting the apothecary, ravaged eyes scoped her surroundings: shattered windows, thick crimson seeping into the brick tiles, moans of agony pervading the air combined with screams of terror and wailing children. Scar could hear the raucous laughter coming from six hooded figures, their faces covered with the customary silver masks and they were elegantly brandishing their wands, jets of light ricocheting against the stores and a few stragglers while they fought against four Aurors. Scowling, the redhead noticed that there were three Aurors down and the Death Eaters remained standing, and it hit her like a ton of bricks – they were _toying_ with them.

" _REDUCTO_!" Scar shouted, the spell blasting into a Death Eater that was halfway through articulating the Killing Curse. There was a moment of astounded silence as every single person in the vicinity turned to gape at the damage her spell caused; the unfortunate Death Eater's torso had a large puncture wound where his heart was situated and in slow motion, he collapsed onto the ground, dead. Musing over the sudden shock that permeated throughout the alley, Scar deduced it to be the first time a Death Eater had been purposely killed instead of being bounded and carted off to Azkaban – a bloody moronic move in the redhead's opinion.

The four Aurors and the five Death Eaters simultaneously whipped around to stare at Scar, and her smirk grew wider; _there was a new player in Magical Britain_.

Taking advantage of their motionless shock, Scar expertly wielded her wand and threw three consecutive curses – a blasting hex aimed at another Death Eater's head, barely sparing a second glance at the chunks of brain matter, skull, blood and flesh that splattered onto the brick tiles and those in close proximity to him; a bone-breaking hex was directed at the third Death Eater's clavicle; and an Entrails-Expelling Curse was aimed at the fourth, not even the slightest bit repulsed as the scum's organs and intestines littered the floor. Absentmindedly, Scar hoped that the parents had the foresight to hide the gory sight from the children. The three sequential spells were done fluently and in rapid speed, and the three aforementioned Death Eaters dropped like flies before they could even take the time to blink.

The distinctive growl of Head Auror Alastor Moody permeated the air as he cast a full body-bind curse on the remaining two Death Eaters, and just as he began berating his Aurors for freezing in battle, Scar's intensified hearing – a trait that came with her Animagus form – heard the peculiar sound of tormented screams and she immediately pursued the aggressor, wanting to spare the victim further pain from the Unforgivable she was personally and unfortunate enough to be extremely familiar with. Left, right, straight, left, and finally, ravaged orbs located the victim writhing on the ground near the back entrance of Knockturn Alley.

The Death Eater chuckled maliciously, his wand flourishing the practiced movement of the Killing Curse, " _Avada Kedav-_ "

Quickly morphing into a combative stance, Scar recalled the spell she created before the Horcrux Hunt after her diligent self-studying in Arithmancy. She waved her wand in intricate yet flawless movements and boomed out, " _SPECULO INCANTAMENTUM!_ " The deathly neon-green jet sped toward the twitching victim, but before it impacted with the man's chest, due to the potency of magic Scar used to fuel her spell, a large oval domed mirror blocked him from view, and the green light rebounded, hitting the castor in the chest, killed by his own spell… how _fitting._

With a simple flick of her wrist, the conjured mirror made to deflect the vilest of curses vanished, and she ambled toward the filth. Scar yanked off the silver mask, cocking her head to the side in confusion, for she didn't recognize the identity of the wizard. Shrugging blatantly, the redhead turned to face the other wizard and was pleased to see that he wasn't suffering from violent aftereffects, but all the same, she offered him her hand, "You okay, Sir?"

"Y-Yes, thank you," the man stammered out breathily. "How can I ever repay you?"

Waving her arm nonchalantly, Scar smiled, although it remained hidden from the wizard, "Just take care to yourself next time. We're living in dark times, Sir." Wandlessly, she summoned his wand and handed it over and just as she went to depart, a strangely familiar voice yelled out, "Henry! Oh, Henry! What happened? Are you hurt, were you harmed?"

Ravaged eyes widened at the peculiar stuffed vulture sitting atop the hat that was commonly worn by one person in particular. Before the wizard – Henry, could utter a word, Scar cast a non-verbal notice-me-not charm on herself, returned to the apothecary, and grabbed her purchases before Floo traveling to the Headmaster's office, the entire journey spent in a daze. So preoccupied in her stupefied state, she failed to hear Albus Dumbledore repeatedly yell out her name in alarm, unable to catch her attention as she successfully departed through his griffin gargoyle and into Gryffindor Tower.

 **M** inutes trickled by, and Albus stood rooted on his spot, gaping incredulously at his closed office door, unable to decipher why the time-traveling witch was in a state of disarray. In fact, Albus was oblivious in regards to how long he stood in the middle of his office, adopting a statuesque stance while unfathomably staring at the closed door and mulling over her bizarre behavior, and the only reason he was snapped out of his stupor was due to the distinctive roaring of the embers from behind him, followed by the familiar guttural growl of his old friend, Alastor.

"Albus? Something interesting about that door?" he growled, slumping down onto the empty seat. What with their long-term friendship and the many Order meetings that took place in the Headmaster's Office, Alastor made himself right at home, his beady eyes scrutinizing the jolted behavior of his old friend and ally as he retook his customary seat opposite to him. Smiling jovially, Albus' eyes twinkled at the sight of the paranoid Auror, "Alastor, what brings you here on this fine day?"

"If only it were so fine! There was an attack at Diagon, Dumbledore," it took a lot to surprise Alastor Moody, and seeing the color drain from Albus' face as his eyes, devoid of their customary twinkling, nervously flickered in the door's direction definitely surprised the paranoid Auror. Deciding to mull it over on his own time, he continued with his report, "Six Death Eaters. Bastards were toying with us. Unfortunately, I lost two of my Aurors, and another is at St. Mungo's, and I would have lost a damn lot more if it weren't for a cloaked witch. Killed four out of six in less than a minute, gave me the upper hand to catch them off guard and cart them off to the Ministry."

A grave expression took over Albus' visage and he leaned forward, " _Killed_? She _killed_ four wizards?"

"Aye," Alastor grunted. "Shocked the bloody bastards. I've said it before and I'll say it again, Albus. We're losing a lot of lives due to our leniency! They slaughter us without remorse while we try capturing them for a fair trial," he spat, disdain coloring his face. "Whoever that witch is, she follows the correct code. Kill them filth, show no mercy, and let me tell you, the only reason I managed to restrain the last two was because they were stumped over the fact that somebody opposing them went directly for the kill!"

The wizened Headmaster closed his eyes and dragged a weary hand down his face; he had always been a believer of second chances, of allowing the sinned to practice redemption, but hearing Scarlett's gruesome tale of what befell her and the bleak future awaiting them if she never traveled back in time, his stubborn beliefs were beginning to weaken. Alastor's voice brought him back to the present, "-used a mixture of light and dark spells. If she hadn't defended us and killed those filths, I would be worried. She's formidable I tell you. I'd be damned if I don't manage to snatch her up and have her join the Auror program. But that's not all, Dumbledore. She saved Lord Longbottom's life!"

" _What_? What happened, Alastor? Tell me," Albus probed, ignoring the battle waging in the recess of his mind. Lord Henry Longbottom was a dear friend to him and a fellow Order member, and his near demise shook him.

"Just as I was about to get a name from her, she fled, don't know where. Next thing I know, Augusta appears supporting a shaking Henry. According to him, after Michaels released him from the Cruciatus, bloody scum cast the Killing Curse. A conjured mirror banished the spell backward, effectively killing him. Ironic, eh?" Alastor was definitely enjoying the new conundrum. The Ministry would no doubt be in a state of uproar over the fact that there was an unknown vigilante killing Death Eaters instead of arresting them.

Hoping for a negative response, Albus inquired, "So we have no way of identifying the anonymous witch?"

Grunting in annoyance, Alastor growled, "Henry managed to catch a wisp of crimson hair, other than that, we've got no way of identifying the witch."

 **B** efore Scar's height could surpass the stove, she had rigorous training in the art of cooking to feed her anorexic horse of an aunt, her obese whale of an uncle and her pig of a cousin who aspired to become as obese as his father. Unable to see past the stove, the redhead was forced to stand over a stool and meticulously cook meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner, lest she burned anything and got punished and starved for days on end. But as the years went by, Scar came to enjoy cooking and found her skill was particularly adroit when it came to baking, therefore, it came to no surprise when Scar found out that she was a progeny at Potions despite her snarky professor and his vitriolic comments and unwarranted hatred towards her person. Despite the uncanny similarities between the Muggle and Wizarding art, brewing potions were more complex, and one must practice absolute caution and patience, for one miniscule misstep could cause an explosion, or worse.

But practice makes perfect, and Scar was confident in herself and the innate skill of potion-making she inherited from her mother, which was why the Girl-Who-Lived found brewing to be very meditative, a moment of clarity where she could clear her mind and process the myriad of thoughts buzzing around after a hectic day.

Currently, Scar had ensconced herself in the dungeons after her departure from the Headmaster's Office, humming tunelessly as she carefully concocted the neutralizer for the Cruciatus Curse. It was an intricate potion and failure to concoct it correctly would lead to catastrophic results, however, with the innumerous amount of times the redhead suffered from the aforementioned Unforgivable, Scar could brew it blindfolded. The tranquil ambience gave her the perfect opportunity to mull over this morning's events; she saved Lord Longbottom's life, _Neville's grandfather_ , and it was completely unintentional. The first life she saved, and it was purely _accidental_.

Recollecting the disastrous incident of Hagrid's first Care of Magical Creatures lesson after returning from the epically failed summit with the giants, Neville informed the amphibian in pink that the reason he could see the Thestrals was due to the fact that he had witnessed his grandfather's death. Obviously after today's events, it was glaringly clear that Neville never met his paternal grandfather, meaning he witnessed his maternal grandfather perish.

 _Could it be… was she meant to visit Diagon at that exact moment… was it not in fact, her horrible Potter Luck rearing its ugly head, but Fate guiding her into saving the first casualty?_

Scar wanted to scream, she wanted to yell, she wanted to bash her skull against a hard surface, and she wanted to lie down onto the cool floor and cry her heart out. She had been too lax in her mission, arrogantly certain that she had until after graduation to save lives and that she should focus on the current and future Death Eaters at Hogwarts. Realizing that Neville's grandfather was meant to die today and survived due to – as McGonagall stated after she and Ron saved Hermione from the mountain troll – _sheer dumb luck_ , was a bitter pill to swallow and Scar felt abysmal. The second she landed in the past, Scar should have studied and memorized _her_ Dumbledore's meticulously written notes and observed the plethora of memories regarding the demise of Magical Britain's populace, as well as the raids Voldemort instigated in the Muggle World.

Expelling a long breath, the redhead reduced the flames and made herself comfortable; she had an hour wait before extinguishing the flames completely and imbibing the neutralizer. She made the decision to order nutrient potions by owl as she wanted to get a head start on the mission she had arrogantly abandoned and didn't want to waste any further time brewing potions. Suddenly, the door blasted open and ravaged eyes snapped over to the doorway, only for them to widen at the sight. Scar's blood boiled with fury when her orbs took in the long, thick, shining black hair, thin lips, dark, heavy-lidded eyes and strong jaw; _Bellatrix Black!_ The one she swore vengeance to as well as an agonizing death!

"What are you doing here? _Leave_! My fiancé and I want some privacy," Bellatrix sneered haughtily, and from her expression, it seemed like nobody ever disobeyed her or questioned her. Arching an eyebrow in response, Scar barely spared a glance at the mute Rodolphus Lestrange who ambled toward the storage cupboard for ingredients. "Do I look like one of your minions that you can command around? If you are so bothered by my presence, then _you_ should be the one to leave, seeing as _I_ was here first, Black," she sneered in return, spitting her name out with hatred.

Sapphire eyes narrowed in anger and Bellatrix fingered her wand, "I am a Daughter of the Noble of most Ancient House of Black, a Pureblood traced back through many generations to before the Founder's time! How dare you speak to me that way you filthy blood traitor!"

"Oh?" Scar got off her chair and kept her wand at the ready, "And how, pray tell, am I a 'blood traitor' as you so eloquently put it?"

"Emrys- _Slytherin_ in _Gryffindor_ ," Bellatrix sneered as though Scar was being purposely dense.

The redhead threw her head back and chuckled darkly before glaring malevolently at the deranged bitch. "See, you and I, we have a different opinion on what a blood traitor is. You're an unbalanced, psychotic and sadistic bitch, _you_ are a stain to the esteemed House of Black just by existing and spouting off your immoral beliefs," she took immense pleasure in watching Bellatrix's face flush red with apoplectic anger. "I'm not one to be easily trifled with, Black! You may be a Daughter of the House of Black, but I am _the_ LADY Emrys-Slytherin, the Lady of _two_ Noble and most Ancient Houses that are archaic and thought to have been extinct before I came along. Do. Not. Test. Me!"

Rodolphus hesitantly approached the deranged psychopath he was to wed, "Bella, dear, let's work on our potion and leave. Ignore the bint. She's not worth it."

"Language, Heir Apparent Lestrange," Scar snapped without disconnecting her warped eyes from blazing sapphires, which was a smart move, for Bellatrix Black waved her wand and uttered a bone-breaking hex aimed at Scar's leg. She easily sidestepped it, ravaged eyes turning into slits as she took a page from Hermione and muttered, " _Avis. Oppugno."_

A flock of canaries attacked a shrieking Bellatrix at the speed of a bullet; Bellatrix was a formidable opponent and a ruthless dueler, but thankfully, she had yet to reach her full potential and Scar's little spell managed to run her out of the room as she yelled profanities at the top of her lungs and vowed threats.

There was a beat of silence after the deranged bitch's loud departure; not one to turn her back to lethal Death Eaters, Scar shifted her orbs to blue-grey ones that were identical to Rabastan's and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. Rodolphus sneered at her before turning his back on her and returning to his workstation. Shrugging, the redhead retook her vacant seat and patiently waited for the neutralizer to finish stewing. Rodolphus, like his younger brother, was devastatingly handsome with identical entrancing eyes, but while Rabastan had an air of ebullience, was laidback and had eyes that shone with mirth, Rodolphus was more somber, cultivated and rigid with a perpetual sneer on his handsome face.

Already having had decided to save Rabastan's soul, Rodolphus Lestrange on the other hand, was an anomaly to the redhead; she had yet to socialize with the Heir Apparent, but the undeniable truth was that the elder brother already had the Dark Mark branded onto his arm. Scar knew it was all theory, but she had a peculiar feeling that marrying Bellatrix Black made him equally deranged and set him too far astray to the point of no return, bringing his younger brother down with him. It was a bloody huge risk, but the Girl-Who-Lived learned long ago that she should _always_ trust her instincts, and right about now, at this particular moment, her instincts were screaming at her, telling her that separating the Lestrange brothers from Bellatrix would give them a chance to be saved, no matter how miniscule it was.

Bellatrix Black was toxic, a plague that could suck out any remnant goodness in a person and warp them to her will.

Extinguishing the flames, Scar conjured twenty vials and filled them with the neutralizer. With a mere flick of her wand, she packed her utensils and started cleaning out her station and cauldron before turning to leave. Pausing briefly on Lestrange who was adamantly ignoring her presence, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, "Word of advice, Mr. Lestrange, I'd terminate the marriage contract with Bellatrix Black if I were you."

Hands instantly stilled in dicing bat spleen and Rodolphus slowly turned around to face the enigmatic Lady Emrys-Slytherin, the sneer perfectly intact on his visage, "I wouldn't talk about such matters so openly, Emrys-Slytherin. You have no right to interfere in my life and that of my bride-to-be."

"Perhaps," Scar rebutted, not one to stand down so easily until she got her point through. "I do apologize for intervening in a matter that is obviously none of my business, but think of it as a… friendly warning. Bellatrix Black is a pestilence, unlike her sisters and her cousins, insanity is rapidly taking over her, and I promise you, she will tarnish the Lestrange name, she will bring about extinction to the Noble House of Lestrange, of that, I am sure. Anyways," she brushed off imaginary lint from her skirt and ignored the shocked expression on his face, his sneer all but vanished. "I have overstepped my boundaries, I shall leave you be-"

" _Wait!_ " he yelled after her, and not waiting for her to turn around, he haughtily drawled out, "You arrogantly claim of what the future might bring before it has yet to occur. Are you a Seer?"

Instigating eye-contact, Scar smirked, "Maybe. Maybe not." Realizing that Rodolphus wouldn't let it go so easily and might end up stalking her or forcing the answer out of her, she dragged a hand through her crimson locks and sighed wearily, "Look, Lestrange, I don't know about you, but Bellatrix clearly doesn't love you. Most marriage contracts do not begin or end with love, of that, I understand, but she won't give you an Heir. Her interests and disturbed adoration lies completely with Voldemort, and never you."

 _Interesting… he didn't flinch or show any outward reaction to the Dark Lord's name… hmm._

Not waiting for a reply, Scar left the elder Lestrange to ponder over the veracity of her words in the empty classroom.

* * *

 _September 16_ _th_ _, 1976;_

 **E** ver since his near death experience, Henry's beloved Augusta had been smothering him to the point of suffocation, not that he blamed his formidable wife… if it were the other way around, Henry wouldn't give her a moment of reprieve either, not that he could ever imagine a Death Eater foolish enough to poke the dragon and suffer the end of her wand. Yes, Lady Augusta Longbottom was a dragon, a formidable witch, and a ruthless dueler; his Heir, Franklin was a year from graduating Hogwarts and beginning his Auror training and he still feared angering his mother and suffering her wrath.

Finally allowed a moment alone, Lord Henry Longbottom shuddered, remembering the unbearable pain of the Cruciatus Curse, of having every nerve on fire and the continual aneurysms he suffered, the blinding pain and then… he was allowed a reprieve, a nanosecond where he had been given the chance to greedily suck in a last breath of fresh air before the lethal green light shot toward him and his life flashed before his very eyes. He thought of his beloved Gus and how he would never hold her in his arms, he thought of his son, Franklin, his pride and joy, his Heir, the thought of not being able to watch him graduate, become a skilled and respected Auror, get married and have children… those thoughts were more excruciating than the tormented pain of the Cruciatus Curse, and just as he was about to welcome his unfortunate death, the deadly green light disappeared from his line of vision by a conjured mirror, and the next thing Henry knew, his hazel orbs connected with the corpse of his would-be murderer.

The events that followed were all in a blur. He distinctly recalled expressing gratitude to his savior right before Gus arrived in a frazzled state. Henry owed his savior a life debt, one he was adamant in fulfilling; despite the fact that his savior was fully sheathed in a hooded cloak, her voice was mellifluous and notably female, and just as Gus demanded his attention in the form of a suffocating hug, a flash of crimson passed before his eyes.

According to the _Daily Prophet_ , Lady Emrys-Slytherin had crimson locks, and although Henry didn't share his suspicions with Alastor, _he knew_ … he knew the identity of his savior.

 ** _L_** _ord Henry Harfang Longbottom; on the fifteenth of September, year 1976, Voldemort sent seven of his followers to instill fear in Diagon Alley; out of the seven, only one (name unconfirmed) separated himself from his fellow Death Eaters searching for an important individual, preferably one belonging to the side of the Light, and he cornered Lord Henry Longbottom in the back entrance of Knockturn Alley; Henry Longbottom suffered under the Cruciatus Curse before he was effectively murdered by the Killing Curse; mortalities include six Aurors, and six bystanders; only three bystanders were wounded and in critical condition excluding Head Auror Alastor Moody; of the seven Death Eaters, only one had been captured and incarcerated; captured Death Eater: Rhys Emerson._

Scar tossed the piece of parchment away from her line of vision, disturbed by the chronicled entry. Albus Dumbledore was bloody precise in his recollection, that's for sure. The records were a goldmine and a helpful commodity to her mission and for the third time that day, Scar wanted to bash her skull against a hard surface for overlooking it. The alarming fact was that, had she not intervened, or had she visited Diagon two days ago like she had originally intended instead of yesterday morning, then twelve would have died, including her godbrother's grandfather, one he never had the chance to be acquainted with.

It was Sunday morning, and knowing that the Headmaster would beckon her to his office, no doubt having heard about yesterday's attack, she bustled over to the kitchen, devoured a measly portion of porridge and a few strawberries, and made a beeline to the Room of Requirement under her Invisibility Cloak. Everything she brought with her to the past had been inserted into Hermione's beaded bag which she carried around with her wherever she went, magically spelled into a pocket she created. Scar left the pensieve in the bag but took out the recordings of all the deceased and date of the raids, chronicled in Dumbledore's distinctive loopy handwriting.

Done wallowing in despair and self-hatred, the redhead thumbed through the parchment, ravaged eyes taking in the plethora of horrible deaths that occurred, had yet to occur and will occur. Warped eyes whizzed horizontally and vertically in rapid speed as she devoured the havoc Voldemort wreaked. Name after name after name, dates, times, places, it was endless, and the more bulletins Scar browsed through, the more nauseated she felt.

Eyes widened in horror at the familiar name glaring back at her;

 _Gerald Bernard Marchbanks; on the second of June, year 1977, Voldemort appointed Death Eater, Walden Macnair with the mission of murdering the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor as he had managed to survive the curse placed on the position for another year running and was about to successfully return for his third year of teaching at Hogwarts; Walden Macnair led four Death Eaters to Gerald Marchbanks' personal abode at Bromley, London near the wizarding district, Historic Alley; Gerald managed to bring down two Death Eaters before succumbing to, allegedly, Macnair's wand; Walden Macnair is notoriously known for his penchant in gore and dismemberment, and since Gerald's head had been decapitated and hung for the Aurors to see, I am certain it was Walden Macnair's doing._

Scar couldn't stomach the thought of the jovial Defense Professor dying in such a ghastly method. Deciding to take a break and practice dueling, Scar collected all the parchments and neatly arranged them, but just as she was about to insert them into the beaded bag, her hands stilled and her stance froze as warped eyes widened once more.

" _Merlin's saggy balls!_ " she breathed out, her eyes unable to detach themselves from the chronicled name handwritten on the initial parchment, and slowly, one hand rose to cover her gaping mouth. She could not believe her eyes, but cruel jokes weren't the lemon-drop-sucking, eye-twinkling Headmaster's style.

There was no way Scar would be practicing spells; she had a crucial memory to witness.

 **A/N: ****New chapter out! Hope you liked it?! XD**

 **I am so sorry that this chapter wasn't a long one, but there wasn't much I could put since the next events belong solely to the next chapter. How did you like the introduction of Rodolphus and Bellatrix? Unlike Rabastan, the elder Lestrange won't be very forthcoming and he will be a pure Death Eater asshole for a while. There will be a lot of conflict with Bellatrix as well – a person Scar loathes with every fiber of her being. It may seem like I made Bellatrix weak in this chapter, but I didn't… she isn't stupid to severely maim or kill a student while at Hogwarts and under Dumbledore's nose, and like I said, Bellatrix is seventeen and has yet to reach her full deranged Death Eater potential. ;)**

 **ALSO; Scar's Animagus Form will be revealed later on in the story.**

 **What did Scar find that shocked her to the core? There will be a HUGE plot-twist in the next chapter, and I cannot wait to write it out! XD**

 **R &R.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: ****All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **A/N:** ** _**Bold Italic**:: **Flashbacks.**_**

 ** _& &Bold Italic&& :: &&Pensieve Memories&&_**

 **Hello Dear Readers! I would like to** ** _deeply_** **apologize for the delay in posting up this chapter. Personally, I am overwhelmed due to the fact that I am currently writing over twenty stories and I am not able to update them all posthaste. To those Readers that are following other fanfics of mine, besides Scars of a Survivor, I assure you that no matter how long it takes for me to update a story, I will not, I repeat, will NOT, abandon any of my stories, as they are all my babies!**

 **Anyway; I hope you enjoy this chapter! XD**

 **Chapter 8: ****Anastasiya:**

 ** _**July 3, 1975;_**

 ** _Since returning from Hogwarts, Antonin barely had a minute to spare and had been unable to immerse himself in the grand Dolohov Library at the Manor, or interact with his fellow Slytherin friends; however, now that he was to begin his fifth year at Hogwarts, Antonin grew used to it. It was a very well-known fact that for the first two weeks, Antonin would have his hands full with his little sister, Anastasiya, who was five years younger than him and who loathed the ending of summer break._**

 ** _Despite the age gap between the Dolohov siblings, Antonin and Anastasiya were extremely close and the ten-year-old looked up to her brother and had always perceived him as her idol. Little Anastasiya always grew despondent as September first loomed closer, but as the years passed by, she felt the stirrings of excitement over the fact that next summer, she would be shopping for her own school supplies at Diagon Alley and accompanying her brother to Hogwarts._**

 ** _Currently, Lady Oksana Dolohov had acceded to Anastasiya's incessant pestering of visiting the magical menagerie at Historic Alley, and coaxed Antonin to accompany them, something that vividly pleased the bright ray of sunshine who had her tiny hands interlaced with his, skipping towards the hidden entrance. As Purebloods, they could have simply apparated or used the Floo Network, however, Alexei and Oksana Dolohov were adamant believers in teaching their children to be humble as well as learning to adapt to their surroundings in case a time ever came where they found themselves lost and/or without a wand, and therefore, the siblings were well-adjusted to the intricacies of the Muggle World – though they never boasted about it to their stuffy pureblooded friends such as the Malfoys, the Notts, etc._**

 ** _"_** ** _Antonin-, oh shoot. Anastasiya, slow down, you need to take your potion. Stand beside your brother," Oksana called out, her warm chocolate orbs never detaching from her clutch as she rooted for her daughter's prescribed potion – a potion most Purebloods took on a regular basis until they begin their magical education, a nutrient made to strengthen their core. Unfortunately, the potion should be taken on a strict regimen, and her wand was vibrating at an alarming rate, informing her that the allotted time had arrived._**

 ** _It all happened so fast._**

 ** _Anastasiya Dolohov was a rebel by nature, so childishly innocent and naïve in regards to her surroundings – she chose to ignore her mother as her eyes widened in glee at the distinctive entrance to Historic Alley. She yanked her hand from Antonin's firm grip and giggled exuberantly while skipping over to her destination._**

 ** _"_** ** _Ana! No!" Antonin called out, startling Oksana who had finally located the potion. A muggle vehicle made a swift turn and two men clambered out, dashing toward Anastasiya's tiny form and wresting her into their arms. Her terrified screams pervaded the air, and it was only when one of the Muggle men shoved a cloth onto her lower face, did she cease all movement and slump into the second Muggle's arms, unconscious._**

 ** _Their environs swarmed with a crowd of Muggles, rendering Oksana and Antonin useless, and forcing them to relinquish their magic as a means of aid, and use their legs to reach the youngest Dolohov. "_** **ANA** ** _!"_**

 ** _"_** **ANASTASIYA** ** _!"_**

 ** _But they were too late. The van drove off with Anastasiya Dolohov… never to be seen again.**_**

 **D** isfigured eyes had yet to detach themselves from the chronicled entry. She couldn't believe it, and yet, the truth, all the proof she needed, it was glaring right back at her!

Scar was an avid believer that evil wasn't born, but made. The Antonin Dolohov of her time was calculated, ruthless and one of the most lethal Death Eaters, he murdered Remus and many more during the final battle at Hogwarts, and very nearly murdered her best friend, Hermione... Antonin Dolohov, who had been incarcerated in Azkaban for the murder of Fabian and Gideon Prewett and who went berserk, mutilating and eradicating countless of muggle villages… it all made _perfect_ sense now.

 _Anastasiya Yulia Dolohov; on the third of July, year 1975, was abducted by three Muggle men in front of the muggle entrance of Historic Alley. The youngest Dolohov unwittingly separated herself from her mother and elder brother, when all of a sudden, a muggle vehicle known as a van, swiftly swerved in her way, blocking her path and two Muggles quickly grabbed her, leaving the third Muggle behind the wheel for a hasty getaway. According to the Muggle Aurors, known as Policemen, after inspecting the scene, they located a white handkerchief on the ground, reeking of Chloroform – an ingenious yet volatile muggle creation; it is a colorless, sweet-smelling liquid used as an aesthetic and to render those who inhale it, unconscious – Chloroform was a popular method in muggle crimes, especially used for kidnappings. Speculated to be a non-magical case, and the magical and Muggle Aurors failed in locating ten-year-old Anastasiya. Until now, her body had yet to be found by anyone, but I._

Scar's eyes widened at the conclusion of Albus' entry. It all made perfect sense – the reason for the Dolohovs unwavering support and disturbing loyalty to Voldemort's cause as well as their hatred towards Muggles and Muggleborns. Evil isn't born… but made… Anastasiya's abduction by Muggles transformed the Antonin of 1976, to the Antonin of her future, and Scar would bet her Firebolt that the Dolohovs were already initiated into Voldemort's inner circle as a form of vengeance. Unconsciously, her eyes traveled toward the plethora of vials filled with memories, narrowing in on the lone vial with a parchment spellotaped onto it, written in Albus' loopy handwriting: _Anastasiya Yulia Dolohov, 1981._

Grabbing the vial, Scar emptied its contents into the pensieve, desperate and highly curious to discover the poor girl's fate, but before she plunged into the memory, she took notice of the other two chronicled bulletins that were underlined and positioned right below Anastasiya's entry.

 _Alexei Antonin Dolohov; on the seventeenth of November, year 1979, he succumbed to a cardiac arrest evoked by years of his daughter's disappearance and receiving no positive results. Aggrieved beyond belief and spending all hours of every day searching for the missing Anastasiya, Alexei could no longer survive another day. Four years after the tragic event that struck the Dolohov Family – The stress, heartbreak, and grief proved to be too much for the anguished father to bear, and he gave up, surrendering to life's next adventure._

 _Oksana Anastasiya Dolohov; on the fourth of November, year 1981, with her daughter still missing and absolutely no news over whether or not the youngest Dolohov remained alive or perished long ago, and with the death of her husband due to his grief, Oksana grew despondent. However, on the third of November, year 1981, three days after Voldemort's defeat, Antonin Dolohov had been captured by the Ministry and brought in for trial in front of the Wizengamot, and after questioning him under Veritaserum, was imprisoned a life sentence in Azkaban for his status as a Death Eater, eradicating innumerous Muggles and their homes, and the murder of Fabian and Gideon Prewett. The day after Antonin's incarceration, Aurors were given permission to raid Dolohov Manor, and found the corpse of Oksana Dolohov dangling from the chandelier with a noose around her neck. No longer having the will to live, what with her children gone and her husband dead, Oksana committed suicide._

It was so tragic, so… so _Shakespearean_. And Scar's heart went out to the Dolohov Family. Anastasiya's kidnapping was the catalyst to the Lord and Lady Dolohov's demise and Antonin's descent into darkness. Scar was now more adamant than ever to save Antonin's soul, and without further ado, she plunged into the pensieve and witnessed the curious memory.

Once regurgitated, rage and fury consumed her entire being, her fists clenched so tight she drew blood, and her eyes actually glowed in ferocity and malice.

" _Bloody_ _fucking_ _hell_!"

* * *

 _September 17_ _th_ _, 1976;_

 **T** ransfiguration and Charms passed in a haze. Physically, Scar was present in both classes, mentally however, she was elsewhere, lost in deep thought. The memory she bore witness to the other day severely shook her… in all honesty, she didn't know _why exactly_ she was so surprised; she merely thought evil had its limits, but she was apparently grossly mistaken. Transfiguration was taken with the Slytherins, and during the entirety of the lesson, her warped orbs unconsciously bored holes into the back of Antonin's head, unable to recover from her shock, and it took everything in her to suppress herself from blurting out the truth.

She needed to report to Dumbledore, _and soon_!

"Are you alright?" the sweet, nurturing voice of her moth-, _no_ , not her mother, of _Lily Evans_ , abruptly snapped her out of her deep reverie, and upon looking up, she noticed that Dorcas, Alice and even Remus were staring back at her in concern.

Glancing at her untouched plate, Scar nodded diminutively, "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm-" At that moment, intense onyx eyes met her violet-emeralds from across the Great Hall, and guilt churned in her belly, prompting her to drop her unused fork onto her plate with a loud clang. "I, uh, I'm heading off to Ancient Runes." And without another word, Scar fled the Great Hall, her head ducked in a desperate attempt to avoid the plethora of eyes burning into her back, especially those belonging to Antonin Dolohov.

" _Wait_!" Lily cried out in amazement, but the redhead had already vanished. Shaking her head, her eyebrows knit together in concern as she turned her attention back to her three best friends and roommates. "Ancient Runes isn't for another hour," she murmured to them. Leaning forward, Sirius portrayed utmost ease as he smirked devilishly at Marlene and threw her a wink, "Ah, forget about Emrys-Slytherin, Evans. The girl is odd."

James nodded fervently in agreement as he devoured his lunch. "Sirius is right. If I were you, I'd keep my distance from her. There's something about her that isn't right… something dark. And I'm not just talking about her creepy eyes," he histrionically shivered to add emphasis, prompting Lily to glare at him in displeasure.

"Oh, please," Alice huffed, tearing her eyes from Frank, her furious blush receding. "Not that hogwash again, Potter. Leave the poor girl alone, she hasn't done _anything_ to you."

"Besides, _we're_ her roommates," Dorcas pointed a finger between herself, Lily, Marlene and Alice. "I think we'd be the first to know if she's evil reincarnated. Scarlett doesn't even bother us. She minds her own business, and treats us politely. You just hate her because Slytherin is tacked to her last name. If she were just Scarlett Emrys, then you Marauders would've welcomed her with open arms!"

James and Sirius gaped at the usually sweet Gryffindor who was renowned for being armed with biting remarks and a stern disposition. Just, yet stern – those two words best described Dorcas Meadowes. Out of the four best friends, Lily and Alice were both quite welcoming and very friendly to the crimson-haired, ethereal beauty with strange eyes that materialized out of nowhere with a Ladyship to two archaic and respectable houses rumored to have gone extinct centuries ago – or in Slytherin's case, only comprised of Voldemort. But after Scar's return from the Hospital Wing, and her zero policy to bullying made glaringly obvious with her vehement defense of Snape, to the extent of confronting and berating four students from her own house, and the famed Marauders at that, she had managed to win Dorcas over. In fact, only Marlene kept her at bay, the blonde witch never failing to glare at the descendant of Slytherin with narrowed eyes and suspicion, and she wasn't planning on accepting Scarlett anytime soon… if ever.

"Don't be so trusting," James snarled, viciously forking his steak; he worried for his Lily-Flower being in close proximity to Emrys-Slytherin, and most nights he held his lit wand over the Marauder's Map, hazel eyes stubbornly trailing the redhead in case she harmed _his_ Lily in her sleep. However, most nights, her dot wouldn't be ensconced in the Gryffindor Tower, but wandering the castle and even sometimes, her name would disappear altogether from the Map, which was _impossible_! Once or twice, he frantically awakened Sirius, Remus and Peter, anxiously exclaiming the conundrum, and even with the added help of three extra pairs of eyes, the redhead's name never emerged. But what perplexed him the most, hours after her name vanished, it would materialize on the seventh floor, approach the Gryffindor Tower and return to her dormitory for three hours of sleep before heading into the bathroom and then over to the Great Hall for breakfast.

James and Sirius swore to discover Emrys-Slytherin's secrets, and the next time she departed the Gryffindor Common Room for a midnight stroll, the both of them would be tailing her under the Invisibility Cloak

 **P** rofessor Crux started the class off with a bang, proclaiming the latest project until after the Yule holidays would be the creation of a Rune Scheme, and since Rabastan Lestrange had been partnered with her during the first class where they both received Outstandings for their introductory project, they were forced to partner again.

Scar was conflicted. On one hand, she was ecstatic to spend more time with the laidback and mirthful Lestrange brother who was a huge controversy to his future-self, and therefore having the perfect opportunity to influence him toward the Light and away from Voldemort's clutches. However, on the other hand, Scar loathed to work with and be in close proximity to one of the most feared, vicious and ruthless Death Eaters from the future, and who tortured dear, sweet, paternal Arthur Weasley into insanity before ' _mercifully'_ killing him.

"You seem very enthusiastic," Rabastan drawled from beside her, each word laced with heavy sarcasm. Inclining her head in his direction, Scar took note of the amused smirk on his full lips and she rolled her eyes, "As opposed to?"

Amplifying his charm, Rabastan leaned forward, noticing with intrigue that Lupin was glaring daggers at him from across the room. "My dear Lady, every witch here would kill for the opportunity to remain in my presence," and he concluded his statement with a lewd wink. Arching a delicate crimson brow, Scar snorted. "Well, there's a first time for everything, Mr. Lestrange. I assure you, I have no interest in being one of the many witches that throw themselves at you and flirt shamelessly. _Now_ ," she suddenly enunciated, changing the topic before Rabastan's witty rebuttal. "For the rune scheme. I suggest we find a way to make electricity work around magic."

In the blink of an eye, all amusement and mischief slid off his face like grease, only to be replaced by shock, disbelief and utter revulsion, the major indication being the pronounced sneer marring his handsome visage. "You jest! Eckeltricity? You are asking _me_ , Rabastan Lestrange, to waste my time and put all my effort on muggle claptrap?!"

"It's _E-LeCK-Tri-ci-TEE_ ," she enunciated clearly. "And yes." She simply faced him with arched brows, almost daring him to accept the challenge. Scar knew that it was a long shot, but she had to try. If she could persuade Rabastan to accept the project, then she could introduce him to the many wonders of Muggles and their inventions, therefore forcing him to second-guess the indoctrinated and bigoted beliefs most purebloods were spoon-fed with since they were toddlers.

Tom Riddle despised Muggles due to his morbid upbringing in that ghastly orphanage that purposely kept a blind-eye in regards to abuse. Due to his personal experience, he developed toxic hatred to non-magicals and dumped an entire race together in his vendetta. In regards to most Purebloods, people fear what they do not understand, so naturally, due to the witch-hunts that took place centuries ago and the introduction of the Law of Secrecy, witches and wizards grew to ridicule and loathe Muggles, regarding them as filthy, uncivilized animals. Heck, Scar would never forget the day Sirius showed her the Black Tapestry at Grimmauld and informed her that Walburga's cousin, Araminta Meliflua, tried to force a Ministry Bill to make Muggle-hunting legal!

If Purebloods just opened their minds and studied Muggles, they would understand them to be ingenious, impressively surviving the world without magic and evolving with every era. Wizarding Britain still lived in Medieval Times, while the Muggles were becoming more modern with every decade.

"You're actually serious," Rabastan gasped, his shoulders slumping in defeat and his expression aghast. Gathering her belongings, Scar went to leave the classroom and smirked at him, "What do you have to lose? Come on. _I dare you_."

"Why you little minx-" Scar was no longer concentrating on Rabastan, but on the horrible scene playing out in front of her. A Slytherin, who looked to be in her fifth year, had her wand aimed at a first year Hufflepuff, tears streaming down her cherubic face and wincing as the many stinging hexes impacted on her body. Noticing that he no longer held Emrys-Slytherin's attention, Rabastan pivoted around and sucked in a sharp intake of breath, "Scarlett, don't!" But before he could hold on to her wrist, the angry redhead stormed over to the Slytherin girl and whipped out her wand.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!" Scar spat out. A crowd was beginning to form, circling them and watching with abated breaths. Inspecting the Slytherin's pug-like features, Scar knew without a doubt that she was either a Parkinson, or Pansy's mother, and that only incensed the redhead even more.

Haughtily, the girl straightened her posture and sneered at Scar, "Do you know who I am, you little chit? Areena Parkinson! Now back off and allow me to teach this Mudblood how filthy she truly is!"

Scar's magic started to lash out violently, saturating the air and consuming all present spectators in fear. She took calculated steps toward the Parkinson bitch and without warning, jabbed her wand forward, banishing Areena away from the first year Hufflepuff and onto the wall. Flicking her wand once more, she cast a Sticking Charm on her and then proceeded to disarm her of her wand, leaving the pug attached to the wall and defenseless.

"For your information, _Parkinson_ , the only 'filth' here, is you! You are a disgrace to Mother Magic. Harming a child, an inexperienced first year, and for what? To make yourself superior?! If that's your aim, then you should pick on someone your own size, someone experienced!" her gaze landed on Lucius Malfoy who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, enraptured with the proceedings and a cruel smirk etched onto Scar's face as she glared at the now frightened Parkinson. "Oh, I get it. You were trying to catch a certain Slytherin's attention. You're pathetic!" she sneered, unable to stomach being in the same vicinity as Parkinson.

Disregarding the crowd, Scar slowly approached the weeping Hufflepuff and knelt down to be on the same eye level, "Hello, sweetie. Can you tell me your name?"

Sniffling heavily, the adorable first year, sobbed out, "S-Sophia M-Marsh."

Cooing softly, Scar tenderly wiped away the rivulet of tears cascading down her face with the pad of her thumbs and helped her onto her feet, "That's a beautiful name. I'm Scarlett, _but_ , you can call me Scar." Sophia hesitantly smiled, portraying big front teeth and Scar's heart ached at the jolting reminder of Hermione, and she was even more adamant in helping the Muggleborn girl. "Come on, sweetheart, let's go see Professor Sprout. Come on," she gently coaxed her.

"Let me go! Get me down from here you- you _BITCH_!" Areena shrieked from her position on the wall, her feet dangling in the air. In her peripheral vision, Scar noticed a Slytherin, probably one of her lackeys, reaching out for Parkinson's wand that lay abandoned on the ground. Lazily, Scar summoned the wand and pocketed it, smiling viciously at the two Slytherin fifth years, "I think not. I think it would do you a world of good to _stick up there_ and think about your deplorable actions. Now, come on, Sophia, let's go."

The deafening shrieks of Areena Parkinson echoed repeatedly as her lackeys tried the countercharm, unfortunately for them, Scar sealed the Sticking Charm, and Flitwick and the Headmaster were probably the only ones with the ability to reverse it. That moment, Scarlett Emrys-Slytherin drew the attention of a myriad of people. James and Sirius were at a loss for words, flabbergasted at her kindness toward a Muggleborn and viciousness towards the Slytherin bully. Rabastan, if possible, grew more intrigued with the gorgeous Lady Emrys-Slytherin who had absolutely no qualms with making enemies. However, her actions had hypnotized Lucius Malfoy and despite his unwavering love and devotion to his intended, Narcissa Black, he _had_ to know her… he had to know about the crimson-haired goddess.

* * *

 _September 18_ _th_ _, 1976;_

 **H** er legs felt oddly brittle, and it took all the strength she could muster to travel from the dungeons to the Gryffindor Tower. Lassitude was finally catching up to Scar. The redhead could barely recall the last time she had a good night's sleep, not plagued by nightmares and the burden of the accursed prophecy. In fact, if her memory served her correctly, the last time Scar succumbed to a restful sleep, was the night before the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament, and it was only due to the fact that she fell asleep in the Room of Requirement with Cedric's strong arms around her, his presence soporific to her.

And then Cedric was murdered before her very eyes, ensued by forty-one tormented days of captivity in a dark and dingy cell being tortured and raped on a daily basis, and developing an immunity to sleep. Her magical core became accustomed to strenuous activity and lack of sleep, and since then, she spent every moment practicing spells and battling for her life, followed by going on the run for an entire year burdened with the vile aura of Horcruxes. Scar had no use for sleep and became used to two to three hours of slumber, and she couldn't seek salvation in imbibing Dreamless Sleep Potions. On a memorable occasion, the Headmaster and Madam Pomphrey had Snape brew a potent Sleeping Draught, but her immune system rejected it. Therefore, Scar learned to live off on Strengthening Potions, Reinvigorating Potions, and a plethora of Nutrient Potions to maintain a healthy life and remain mobile. She was accustomed to lethargic sensations, but traveling to the past seemed to have taken a lot out of her and her energy was depleting at an alarming rate.

 _Finally_! Scar felt victorious upon reaching the Fat Lady's portrait. The redhead looked forward to a warm, soothing shower, and relaxing on her soft bed for a few hours before resuming her midnight activities. However, just as she put two steps forward, a firm hand circled her upper arm and twirled her around, subsequently slamming her back against the wall softly. Distorted eyes met the intense onyx ones of Antonin Dolohov, and while his expression remained impassive, his jaw was taut. His gaze felt deeply intrusive, eliciting a shiver down her spine.

"What the hell, Dolohov?" Scar tried releasing herself from his grip, but Dolohov wasn't deterred as he positioned his other hand millimeters from her face, against the wall, blocking any means of escaping him. In a menacing snarl, he retorted, "That's what I would like to know, Emrys-Slytherin!"

" _Excuse me_? You're the one who stalked me from the dungeons! You're the one butting into _my_ personal space! We just finished potions! If you had something to say, you had the opportunity then, _partner_ ," she sneered, baffled and a smidge terrified as his furious face loomed closer. Sixteen-years-old or not, no matter Dolohov's age, the wizard was truly powerful and a formidable opponent with the capability of killing in the most ruthless ways.

"You think I didn't notice your suspicious interest in me as of yesterday?" Antonin growled, eyes flashing, "I am not one to be trifled with, Lady Emrys-Slytherin. You have been keeping a close watch on me for two days now. What I want to know is _why_!" Instinctively, her eyes flickered toward his left forearm, and unfortunately for her, Antonin's sharp eyes noticed, prompting them to widen. He flexed his left hand and his gaze bored into hers. "You know." It was a statement… a dangerous statement that held a menacing edge, and Scar knew there was no correct response.

Deflecting him, Scar squarely met his intense stare. "Why so paranoid? Two nights ago I read a clipping of your sister's disappearance when I was in the library. That's all," she shrugged. When infusing a lie with bits and pieces of the truth, one could nearly get away with anything. Antonin Dolohov however, was no mere wizard, and although he recoiled at the reminder of his sister, he slammed his fist against the wall, inches from her cheek prompting her to flinch and suck in a deep breath, "That may be, but you're lying. I can tell. I have always been gifted with detecting truths from lies, and while there is truth in your answer, you are also hiding something. _Tell. Me_!" His voice was infused with a threatening quality and Scar tried, to no avail, to release herself from his iron grip.

"Oi! The bloody hell are you doing here, Dolohov?!"

Scar's eyes shuttered to a close and a sigh of relief escaped her pouty lips. Never before – since her arrival in the past – did she ever feel grateful for James and Sirius' timely intrusion. Tilting her head to face the two Gryffindors, Scar noticed that their eyes were blazing with fury and both had their wands aimed at the furious wizard who had yet to detach his hands from her person. Approaching them, Sirius kept his wand pointed at Antonin's face, "Let her go, Dolohov. _Now_!"

With one last growl, Antonin loosened his grip on her and stepped back, "We _will_ finish this later, Emrys-Slytherin." Nobody mistook the threat behind his words and once he disappeared from her line of vision, Scar choked back a sob and offered James and Sirius a shaky smile, "Thank you."

"What was that about?" James snapped, disturbed over the fact that he and Padfoot had to play savior to Emrys- _Slytherin_. Muttering the password to the Fat Lady who had obviously heard the entire incident and was staring at Scar in palpable concern, she stepped inside, overwhelmed with the crowded common room. Turning back to the two Marauders, both of whom were glaring at her sternly and vehemently impatient, she shook her head, "Nothing. Just a-, a misunderstanding."

Sirius scoffed loudly, beguiling silver eyes looking down at her in disbelief, "Do we look like idiots to you? That was no 'misunderstanding', Emrys-Slytherin!" A flash of golden caught her eye, and Scar found herself victim to Marlene McKinnon's envious glare, her face reddening with rage at her close proximity to Sirius. Smirking lightly, Scar sidestepped their intrusive interrogation and airily commented, "You know, Mr. Black, instead of wasting your time demanding answers from somebody you utterly loathe, you should ask Miss McKinnon to accompany you to Hogsmeade. Once again, thank you, both of you. I'll be going."

Ascending the staircase to her dormitory, Scar could hear Sirius spluttering loudly over James' hearty chuckles. She didn't want her godfather to be lonely in the future. In her future, Marlene McKinnon died during the First War, and since her arrival to 1976, it was clear as day that the Casanova and the stubborn blonde felt strongly for one another. They just needed a push in the right direction, and Scar was more than pleased to speed up the process.

 **A** fter the odd and highly suspicious incident he and Sirius walked in on after Potions, James' curiosity had reached its peak. Therefore, instead of sleeping, James had chosen to be on map duty, impatiently waiting for Emrys-Slytherin's routinely midnight stroll. An hour after the clock struck twelve, his hazel orbs widened and he felt a jolt of energy as the dot belonging to the enigmatic redhead shifted.

"Sirius! _Sirius_! Get up!" Remus had made it clear that he held no interest in stalking Slytherin's descendant, and Peter was too lazy. Only Sirius shared his devotion to unearthing all her secrets, and for that reason, Sirius rapidly shot out of bed, slipped on his shoes and grabbed the Invisibility Cloak without any fuss or cajoling. The two Marauders stealthily kept close to the redhead, who determinedly promenaded toward her designated location while keeping her hardened eyes on the lookout for Filch or Mrs. Norris.

James and Sirius exchanged gleeful smiles and hurried their pace, unable to suppress their curiosity; finally, Emrys-Slytherin's secrets would come to light, and they would be enlightened to her mysterious disappearing act. However, their exuberance was short-lived when the redhead stood opposite to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's office, and their smiles diminished completely upon hearing her mutter the password and step forward.

They could either follow her and eavesdrop on the conversation between her and the Headmaster, where they would no doubt get caught and punished severely since nothing ever escaped Dumbledore's sharp twinkling gaze, _or_ they could retreat to their dormitories and chalk up their night as a failure. Their decision was abruptly taken from them when the gargoyle quickly snapped to a close, blocking any means of entry.

"The Headmaster's office?" James spat out as they snuck back to Gryffindor Tower. "Why would Emrys-Slytherin meet with Dumbledore at one in the morning, way after curfew? It makes no bloody sense!" he fumed, dragging a hand through his messy hair. Sirius shook his head, completely nonplussed, "I don't know, Prongs. But… did you notice how… _friendly_ those two are with each other? I mean, the other day in the Hospital Wing, Dumbledore looked at _her_ fondly. Why are we the only ones that distrust her? She's a descendant of Slytherin for Merlin's sake! She's definitely a spy of Voldemort's!"

James sighed loudly, he too sharing Sirius' frustrations, "Something is seriously off about her. And today, her confrontation with Dolohov… it meant nothing good, Padfoot."

If only the two Marauders knew the truth; they were a hairsbreadth away from discovering Scarlett Sage Emrys-Slytherin's secret, if only they took one step forward and eavesdropped on the immensely interesting conversation that was currently taking place in the Headmaster's office.

 _If only._

 **A** lbus regarded the pensieve Scarlett had reverently placed in front of him with calculating eyes; what interested him the most, was that the pensieve was a carbon copy to the one presently hidden in his cabinet. His pensieve from the future that traveled alongside Scarlett to the past, no doubt filled with a treasure trove of memories.

"You killed five Death Eaters when you were in Diagon Alley," he stated, his voice devoid of any emotion and strangely, _apathetic_.

Scar sharply dipped her head, "I did." When Dumbledore didn't comment, her lips parted slightly in surprise, "What? No lecture? None of your redemption nonsense, no hogwash regarding the importance of giving second chances?" But he simply met her gaze squarely, his expression serene. "…Who are you and what have you done with Albus Dumbledore?" she gaped, honestly taken aback.

Letting loose a few chuckles, Albus examined the powerful witch from the top of his half-moon spectacles, "You vividly remind me of my old friend, Alastor. He too despised my proclivity for donating second chances. But alas, according to your tale of your future, it appeared my wishes were fruitless and because of that, countless died. So no, I believe it is time to change my ways. Now tell me, to what do I owe a visit after curfew?"

Scar sighed deeply as she plucked out the vial of Anastasiya's horrific fate and while pouring it into the pensieve, she addressed the Headmaster, "Two summers ago, Anastasiya Dolohov was kidnapped."

Albus sharply scrutinized the redhead, his gaze intensive, "She did. T'was a tragedy for the Dolohov family, I'm afraid. But you already knew that. I would like to inquire as to why you deemed it fit to bring such a delicate matter into question. Young Anastasiya's abduction has become taboo in the Magical Community, and it only increased the bigotry against Muggles." His voice was laced with despair and disappointment.

"When I saved Lord Longbottom, it was accidental, Dumbledore. It was _purely_ accidental. I grew complacent and foolishly believed I would be able to spend the next two years saving souls and preventing many from becoming Death Eaters from inside Hogwarts. But after unintentionally saving a wizard I never knew died, I perused your notes. I cannot risk complacency any longer, in these two years many died and I cannot have that." Albus grew intrigued just as Scar gestured a hand toward the pensieve, "Upon my perusals, I came across many familiar names. Including a memory of Anastasiya Dolohov; a very _fruitful_ memory."

And together, they plunged into the pensieve…

 ** _& &Albus Dumbledore garbed in magnificent purple robes with half-moon patterns and a matching wizard's hat stood before a Manor that stood on a hill, overlooking a village. Presumably, the Manor was grand and splendor once upon a time, however, currently it looked slightly dilapidated with a few windows boarded up, tiles missing from its roof and ivy spreading wildly around its structure._**

 ** _Marching along the path, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself when an old man limped nearby with a walking stick, and managed to enter the Manor undetected. He dispelled the charm from himself and allowed his boots to echo around the vacant house. There was not even a house-elf in sight, in fact, he received no confrontation whatsoever._**

 ** _Naturally, Albus and Scar recognized the Manor to be Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton, but they both remained silent as they watched the older Dumbledore flick his wand once more and chant, "Homenum Revelio." The spell succeeded in revealing human presence, precisely, only one human situated down in the dungeons where a sundry of cellars resided._**

 ** _Dust had already began to accumulate in the Manor, but it went ignored as the older Dumbledore determinedly strode to his allotted designation, a sharp intake of breath expelling from his lips at the gruesome sight._**

 ** _A girl with tangled and wild black hair matted with congealed blood and dust cascaded down to her thighs, her ivory complexion was marred with dirt, congealed blood, and ugly scars that were in varied shades of pink, red and purple, while a few bruises that looked to be months old littered her body. She was too frail, almost skeletal and her face looked haggard and sunken, while one of her legs was twisted in an abnormal direction. Her breathing was raspy and ragged and she looked to be nearing death's door. As Dumbledore cautiously approached the weak form of the girl, chocolate brown eyes that were red-rimmed and eerily vacant, snapped up, warily regarding him as he knelt down to face her._**

 ** _"_** ** _Are you-" her body shuddered violently as her voice that sounded heavily disused halted abruptly and gave way to toxic coughs, but she stubbornly continued in a strangled voice, "Are you here to f-f-final-lly kill me?"_**

 ** _Albus Dumbledore's face morphed into sorrow, "No, my dear girl. You are Anastasiya Dolohov, are you not?" she nodded once in reply. "I am here to take you away from this place." A few tears leaked out at his statement before she rapidly shook her head, eyes dilating in fear, "He-he won't let you. Th-The Dark Lord will find me."_**

 ** _"_** ** _Voldemort is gone, my child. He was defeated on Halloween, and we are now nearing December. He has been gone for a month now," Dumbledore kindly informed her._**

 ** _"_** ** _How long have I been here?" she managed to gasp out, and every word sounded excruciatingly painful. Regrettably, the older Dumbledore closed his eyes unable to confront the poor girl, "Six years, Anastasiya."_**

 ** _Quivering, Anastasiya slowly lifted a hand to cover her mouth and choked out, "I am, I am sixteen now?"_**

 ** _"_** ** _Yes. You are. We have been tirelessly searching for you, but alas, we failed, my dear. I do apologize for your anguish, and I apologize in advance, but… I need to know what happened to you," Dumbledore sadly told her. In the end, Anastasiya gave him permission to use Legilimency on her as she found herself too jaded and traumatized to relive the past. Albus and Scar were sucked into another memory that future Dumbledore obviously donated._**

 ** _…_** ** _The memory of the happenings through Anastasiya's eyes._**

 ** _"_** ** _Wh-where am I?" ten-year-old Anastasiya squeaked out, her frightened chocolate orbs scoping the lavish living room, and she instantly recoiled upon seeing the three Muggles that abducted her, "Take me home! I want Tonin! And my mommy and daddy! Take me home! Who are you?!" she screeched hysterically, fighting with her bindings._**

 ** _"_** ** _Ahh, the guest of honor has awakened," a sharp, cold voice echoed around her. The man was supposedly handsome once upon a time, but they were fading; his dark hair had a few bald patches, his pale skin had tinges of sickly green and his irises that were once icy blue, were now crimson red. "Hello, Miss Dolohov. I do apologize for the way you were brought to me, but alas, your family has given me no choice."_**

 ** _"_** ** _What are you talking about? Who are you?" she trembled._**

 ** _Ignoring her, he turned to face the three Muggles who each sported a dazed look, a major indicator that they were imperiused and without further ado, he sent three killing curses at them, "Nagini! Lunch is served."_**

 ** _As Anastasiya screamed in fear, the wizard levitated her to the dungeon and hurled her inside, "I, am Lord Voldemort, as you probably heard of me. Your father denied entering my service as well as your brother. And for that, I am afraid I had to seek cruel measures. You are simply collateral damage in my plot, my dear."_**

 ** _"_** ** _Wh-why? What good would come from taking me?" Anastasiya cried out, tears streaming down her beautiful Russian features. Voldemort tut-tutted in a mocking manner, his long, pianist fingers stroking the contours of her face, "When faced with the fact that filthy Muggles abducted their precious daughter, especially a Pureblood witch, my followers will increase in size, and your brother will gladly enter my service and help me in my agenda of ridding the world of Mudbloods and Muggle filth."_**

 ** _In a show of bravado, Anastasiya glared at the red-eyed monster, "My family will-will find me! You won't succeed! My Hogwarts letter will come and lead them here!"_**

 ** _A cruel grin etched onto his once handsome face, "Ah, such a pity. I do despise torturing those worthy of magic. Unfortunately, you are a casualty to a better future. You shall never see your family again, and the Muggles shall be blamed. And I have wards preventing discovery, especially when concerning that old muggle-loving fool, Dumbledore! You best get used to your prison cell, little witch, you are never getting out of it."_**

 ** _Albus and Scar were expelled from her memory and returned to the older Dumbledore's memory of the year 1981. He looked at the frail girl in sorrow and pity, "Come my dear, you are safe now. I shall portkey us to St. Mungo's… Anastasiya? Anastasiya-"_**

 ** _One skeletal hand clutched onto Dumbledore's in a weak grip and in a raspy, strangled voice, managed to coherently say, "Sir, I-I, I don't think I'll make it, I-I've been abandoned for many nights without care or food and I-I am we-weak. Tell my pa-parents and An-Anton-nin, that I love them, I don't bl-blame them, and I-I'm s-sorry…" Her hand dropped onto the filthy ground coated in crimson and feces, but her eyes remained open and glassy as Anastasiya Dolohov succumbed to death and finally knew peace. &&_**

An eerie silence permeated the room as Albus and Scar were regurgitated from the pensieve. Eyes devoid of any twinkling met distorted eyes, both of them conveying utter horror.

 **A/N: ****Who saw that coming?! XD**

 **I hope you liked this chappie?! LOL**

 **Like I said… many more plot-twists to come. What do you think will happen next? Will the Dolohovs be saved, especially Anastasiya? I am so excited!**

 **Things are starting to pick up! Can't wait! XD**

 **R &R.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: ****All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **A/N:** ** _**Bold Italic**:: **Flashbacks.**_**

 ** _& &Bold Italic&& :: & Pensieve Memories&&_**

 **All previous chapters have been edited. Nothing's changed, simply my writing style, so there's no need to reread it all over again if you don't want to.**

 **Chapter 9:** **Allies Assemble:**

 _September 20_ _th_ _, 1976;_

 **S** uffice to say, Potions was incredibly awkward. An invisible barrier had been erected between Scar and Dolohov, infusing their workstation in a bubble of strained silence. Scar was merely thankful Slughorn instructed that each student brew Amortentia solo and therefore, partnership wasn't a requirement. This time, Antonin completed his potion without any blunders and they spent most of the class in cold silence, their eyes stubbornly staring ahead. Adding to the awkwardness, she sensed two pairs of eyes boring into her back with disturbing intensity; apparently, James and Sirius had taken it upon themselves to closely monitor her interactions with the Slytherin after they were forced to play knight in shining armor to her damsel in distress two days back.

However, upon the fruition of her potion, Scar's waiting period was cut short with the arrival of a second year bearing a note from the Headmaster that inquired after her presence. Slughorn jovially sent her off, a calculating glint in his orbs that rankled the redhead, knowing that the Headmaster's evident personal interest in her managed to only intensify the Head of Slytherin's curiosity regarding her. The Slytherins outright stared at her, some in disgust and some in interest – already, rumors were going rampant around the castle that she was Dumbledore's 'Golden Girl', a complete disgrace in their opinion.

 ** _**She raised her fist, showcasing the words 'I must not tell lies' emblazoned on her skin, a mark of her torment under the hands of Umbridge and one she wouldn't forget easily. "I don't remember you rushing to my defense when I was trying to tell everyone Voldemort was back. I don't remember you coming to my defense when I insisted on my godfather's innocence. The Ministry wasn't so keen to be pals last year. Same Ministry that robbed me of a godfather," she icily concluded, glaring daggers at Minister Scrimgeour._**

 ** _In retrospect, Scar knew she was channeling all her bottled up rage and hatred at Scrimgeour, but she didn't care. He wanted her to be the Ministry's mascot, while before him, Fudge chose her as its scapegoat. Scar was sick and tired of being used._**

 ** _"_** ** _What is Dumbledore up to?" he brusquely inquired after a moment's silence. "Where does he go when he is absent from Hogwarts?"_**

 ** _Shrugging, her expression one of utmost unconcern, she retorted, "No idea." Her ruined eyes then flickered to him and held his gaze, "And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."_**

 ** _His jaw clenched and his left eye twitched, an obvious sign of irritation, "Well, then, I shall have to see whether I can't find out by other means."_**

 ** _Scar blatantly smirked at him. During her first three years at Hogwarts, she acted like a perfect princess in the presence of important officials, her behavior impeccable and her tone laced with deference. But towards the end of her third year, after the revelation of Sirius' innocence and discovering the life she could never have, one that was robbed of her – a life without abuse, in a house where she was loved unconditionally – well, Scar grew rebellious, and it only intensified when Fudge brushed her off and condemned her godfather to a life on the run that inevitably led to his death._**

 ** _"_** ** _You can try," her blatant smirk unwavering. "But you seem smarter than Fudge, so I'd have thought you'd have learned from his mistakes. He's no longer Minister, but Dumbledore is still Headmaster. I'd mind my own business if I were you. Concentrate on actually being a worthy Minister," she sneered towards the end._**

 ** _After another long pause, Scrimgeour glared at her through narrowed eyes, the meeting obviously not having gone the direction he intended – not that Scar ever thought of making it easy for him. "Well it is clear to me that he has done a very good job on you." Eyes cold and hard behind wire-rimmed glasses, he continued, his voice resembling the arctic, "Dumbledore's girl through and through, aren't you, Potter."_**

 ** _"_** ** _And proud," Scar retorted, not missing a beat.**_**

Dumbledore's girl through and through; there was no doubting it… _That_ never changed, and it never would.

As she gathered her belongings – stubbornly ignoring the intense onyx glare penetrating her person from her cantankerous seatmate – and slipped out of class, the dual slit-eyed glares of James and Sirius seared into her mind, intently following her form until the door snapped close behind her.

 _Dumbledore better have a good reason for singling her out!_

Stepping into the Headmaster's Office, the redhead _literally_ froze in place, her distorted orbs taking in the two unexpected individuals that sat before Albus, a witch and wizard she immediately recognized and, narrowing her gaze on Albus' casual posture, his steepled fingers, serene smile and the twinkle in his eyes that was directed at her in full force, Scar knew that whatever came next, it probably wouldn't bode well for her. An amused Albus didn't bode well for _anybody_ as he had a sick sense of humor.

"Headmaster, you asked for me?" Scar's tone was cold as she maintained eye contact with Albus, deliberately disregarding the witch and wizard, both of whom were staring at her with transparent intrigue.

Albus beamed, his arm extended in a welcoming gesture. With a grand flourish of his wand, he conjured a plushy armchair. "Scarlett, please allow me to introduce you to He-"

Not bothering with the appropriate exchange of pleasantries, nor particularly caring that she was coming off as rude, Scar, her eyes flinty, icily interjected, "Yes, yes. I know who they are. Lord and Lady Longbottom. A pleasure, I'm sure." Stepping forward, she forced a tight-lipped smile, tossing the propriety handbook out the metaphorical window, "But you did not interrupt my day for unneeded introductions to the House of Longbottom, Headmaster."

Augusta's eyebrow jumped in astonishment at the interaction. In retrospect, she knew she should probably feel insulted at the girl's callousness towards the esteemed Leader of the Light and her ill-mannered disposition towards herself and her husband. But surprisingly, Augusta Longbottom found herself charmed by the girl's brazen and insouciance behavior… it was oddly refreshing. _Also_ , their interaction painted a vivid picture; it had now become crystal clear that Albus and the mysterious Lady Emrys-Slytherin had a relationship that surpassed Headmaster and Student.

"Your bluntness never ceases to amaze me, dear girl," Albus chuckled. "Lemon drop?" he offered, almost cheekily. If possible, the redhead's eyes narrowed even more, " _No_. I do not want laced sweets, _thank you very much_." Her voice was as dry as the Sahara Desert. "Which brings me to _why_ you believe I need help to remain calm."

After another bout of hearty chuckles, the Headmaster ushered her over, basically forcing her to take a seat. " _Nonsense_. No need for paranoia between friends, Scarlett," he grinned. Scar tossed him a deadpanned look and she folded her arms across her chest. Quirking an eyebrow, she maintained her silence and waited and he didn't disappoint. "Ah yes. You see, Henry and Augusta here _specifically_ asked for you, my dear. They wished that I arrange a meeting with you."

Distorted orbs shifted to flicker between the Longbottoms, " _Oh_?"

"You strike me as a Lady who prefers to charge right in and get straight to the point," Henry prefaced in a raspy voice, interlacing his hands together. "Therefore, I shall be blunt with you, Lady Emrys-Slytherin. I owe you a life-debt and I am here to see it fulfilled."

She reared back, her composure slipping at the unexpected statement. Regaining her stoic mask, Scar protested, "I believe you have mistaken my identity for somebody else, Lord Longbottom. Your visit is a waste of yours _and_ my time. Excuse me." She went to stand, ready to depart the premises and throw the amused Headmaster a withering glare, but Henry continued to smile at her, eyes warm and not at all offended by her briskness. "I appreciate your modesty, my Lady-"

"I'm not being modest," Scar curtly interjected, eyebrows knitting together as she squarely met his gaze. "I merely do not tolerate anybody wasting my time, not even a wizard of your stature."

Emitting a noncommittal sound, Augusta deemed it time to join the conversation, "As a Lady of two Ancient and most Noble Houses, I believe you are fully aware that rejecting a life-debt is the _height_ of dishonor in our society."

Parting her lips to argue with the formidable woman, Henry calmly addressed her, his hazel orbs warm with gratitude, "You saved my life. I managed to identify a flash of your hair. I have been around for a long time, young lady. Nobody in Magical Britain possesses such a unique shade of hair. Arguing with me is futile as I also noticed you share the _exact_ same voice as the witch who saved my life at the raid that occurred in Diagon Alley." He held her stare, openly challenging her, but Scar didn't take the bait, her shoulders slumping in defeat. Exhaling sharply from her nostrils, she nodded, resigned to accepting the debt. "Very well, Lord Longbottom. I accept. I only ask that you keep my identity a secret and consider your debt paid in full."

Henry and Augusta exchanged shocked expressions, not quite believing their ears, and even Albus appeared to be surprised, an achievement the redhead took pride in.

"I am afraid that is not possible," Augusta sternly revealed. "We have already shared our suspicions with our son, Frank." Observing the flash of resignation pass through her strange eyes, one that gave Augusta the impression that Lady Emrys-Slytherin expected to be burnt at a pyre, she quickly offered her words of comfort, "He is immensely grateful to you and will not speak a word to anyone."

Clearing his throat, Henry smiled, "Yes… which brings us to what we initially hoped to offer as a price of the life-debt, something that would prove beneficial to both our families. I wish to form an alliance between the Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom and the Noble and most Ancient Houses of Emrys and Slytherin. An oath of fealty."

Scar deftly masked a smirk. _Who knew Henry Longbottom could be so sneaky_? Swearing fealty to her would not only ensure Frank kept her identity a secret, but would also protect the Longbottoms from Voldemort's wrath for the meantime as her title held power over the Light, Dark and even Neutral factions and the Dark Lord wouldn't wish to provoke her until he managed to gain an audience with her and discover where her loyalties lay. _Also_ , the alliance between them would generate doubt in the strictly Light Families, such as the Bones', the McKinnon's, the Prewett's, the Weasley's and the Potter's.

The idea had merit…

She openly smirked, no longer concealing her emotions behind a mask of apathy, "I believe you have yourself a deal, Lord Longbottom. I accept."

"Please, we are allies now. Call me Henry."

 **R** olling her eyes, Scar whipped round to meet Rabastan's steady gaze. "You're staring," she hissed.

After a quick and unsatisfactory lunch at the Great Hall where she attempted – key word: _attempted_ – to ignore the blatant stares boring into her person from the sixth year Gryffindors, none of whom had the courage to inquire over what the Headmaster wanted from her, Scar rushed to the Greenhouse to apologize to Professor Sprout for her absence. Sprout waved her apology off with a bright smile – not only did Dumbledore inform her that Scar might not be able to attend class due to 'personal reasons', but ever since she protected her little badger, Sophia Marsh, from Areena Parkinson and her cronies, she had succeeded in gaining the Head of Hufflepuff's favor, an easy feat if you ask her, since Scar had an absolute zero tolerance for bullying.

Due to the long distance between the Greenhouse and the Arithmancy classroom, Scar arrived just seconds after class started and from the moment she hurriedly deposited herself in her customary seat next to Rabastan Lestrange, the handsome Slytherin had yet to take his eyes off her, the intensity of his unblinking gaze irking her.

"I'm contemplating," he retorted with a smirk. She arched an eyebrow in question, prompting him to go ahead and ask, "What did Dumbledore want?"

Scar couldn't help but let out a particularly loud scoff, prompting Remus, Lily and Antonin to fixate their attention onto them. The redhead glowered back before focusing on Rabastan, "I fail to see _how exactly_ it's any of your business?"

"We're friends, aren't we?" was his cheeky response, eyes intently holding her gaze. Her eyebrow joined the other, disappearing into her hairline, "You mean only when it suits you, hmm? Lemme guess-" her distorted eyes slammed into a pair of onyx that had yet to detach from her person, "-Dolohov put you up to this? Get close to me, learn all my secrets, then what? What's next on the agenda, _huh_?" she sneered.

Rabastan clammed up, blue-grey orbs as cold as an iceberg and his face appearing as though it had been carved out of stone.

The redhead emitted a mirthless snort, "You know, there's a Muggle saying: _Silence speaks louder than words_." She stared at him pointedly, her lips twisted in a contemptuous sneer. For some reason, she felt betrayed. She honestly thought Rabastan genuinely liked her – platonically, of course. "I was wrong about you," she quietly mused as Professor Crux dismissed the class. Jumping to her feet, she shot him a parting glare, "I won't make that mistake again."

Sauntering out of class, Scar purposely shoved past Antonin's shoulder as he came to join the eerily silent Rabastan's side.

 **T** arget acquired, Scar put her game face on and confidently approached the Slytherin who sat in a corner of the Library, pouring through a myriad of books that were spread throughout the table along with Arithmancy charts and rune dictionaries, reminiscent of Hermione during their third year.

A shadow fell upon Regulus and he abruptly looked up, efficiently concealing his surprise when his turquoise eyes collided with the unique shade that belonged to the last person he ever expected to approach him. Her plump lips gently spread into a soft smile as her hand hovered over the chair opposite him in query, "May I?"

He was torn on how to proceed; should he maintain his apathetic, cold Pureblood exterior, or treat her with the reverence her titles deserved, regardless of her sorting into Gryffindor. In the end, Regulus decided neutrality was his best bet. Straightening his posture, he gave her a curt nod and with the toe of his shoe, kicked the chair out, sliding it open for her. Her barely noticeable smile exponentially grew and she eagerly took the proffered seat with grace.

Almost instantaneously, the barely audible whispers intensified and spread throughout the Library; apparently Scar and Regulus were the center of everyone's attention. Severus Snape, who sat in a dark alcove a distance away from intrusive eyes, observed them intently without their knowledge – or so he thought; Rabastan, Antonin, Rodolphus and Bellatrix, the four of whom had just walked in to join Lucius and Narcissa, raised a questioning eyebrow, and while Bellatrix was apoplectic with rage and Rodolphus maintained an indifferent expression, Rabastan and Antonin had mixed emotions, their curiosity surging. The Gryffindors however, were a completely different story: as per the norm, Sirius pretended his brother was invisible and had joined James in the attempt to cajole Remus out of studying to hopefully, accompany them sneak into Honeydukes. The moment the vexing redhead approached his little brother, he stiffened perceptibly and glared daggers at them, hoping, but failing, to overhear their conversation.

Scar smirked – a smirk that held various meanings and Regulus quirked an eyebrow at her, comprehension subtly dawning on his handsome face. "That's quite a reaction," he drawled, eyes intent on her instead of the many invasive eyes boring into them, and she didn't disappoint. Her smirk grew, a hint of deviousness to it that managed to evoke the fifth-year's intrigue. "Yes. Not very subtle, are they?"

He made a noncommittal sound, amusement briefly flashing past his impassive orbs, "What can I do for you, Lady Emrys-Slytherin?"

"I have a proposition for you," she prefaced, her fingers laced together and her focus entirely on him. "How would you like to be friends?"

Regulus tilted his head, apathy bleeding out as confusion replaced it. "I'm sorry… I think I misheard you. Can you repeat that?"

She placed her right elbow on the table and propped her chin in her open palm, her smirk melting into solemnity to portray her standpoint regarding the strange proposal. "You didn't mishear me, Mr. Black. And no, you haven't misunderstood me either. It's simple really. I want _us_ -" she emphasized her point by wagging her index finger between herself and him, "-to be friends," she disclosed in a firm voice. Regulus blinked a couple of times before recovering his impassive mask and he emitted a particularly scathing scoff, "I didn't peg you as a Hufflepuff."

"Oh, trust me, I'm advertising my _Slytherin_ colors, Mr. Black. And proudly so," and her smirk was back tenfold, her strange orbs running across his face for any chinks in his armor, but his face remained stony. Sighing, she decided to spell out her motives, "I believe a friendship between us could be _very_ advantageous. I've had an eye on you for quite some time, observing the nonexistent relationship between you and your brother…connecting the dots here and there." Her smirk fell as his expression turned stoic, rage burning in his eyes. He clenched his fists until they turned bone-white and Scar's concern surged when the Slytherin's entire form started to tremble in rage. "I'm not mocking you, Regulus," she softly assured him.

Turquoise orbs sharply pinned her in place, gauging her. He had expected sympathy, an emotion that would only fuel his rage – _he didn't need anybody's pity!_ – but instead, she squarely met his penetrating gaze, allowing him to get a truthful read on her, and empathy was written all across the redhead's face, surprising him and concurrently, quelling his tongue from spitting out a litany of poisonous and hurtful words.

"What do you want from me?" and to his shame, he sounded weak, like the little boy who had once been afraid of the dark, and only the embrace of his big brother encased him in safety; like the teenager he currently was allowing resignation to consume him from the inside out. From the moment Scarlett Emrys-Slytherin stepped foot into Hogwarts, shrouded in mystery and a giant, impenetrable shield that warned everyone away lest they risked her wrath, Regulus witnessed a certain softness to her; currently, she was looking at him as though he was worthy, like he was a fellow human in possession of a beating heart, and not just the spare brother, standing by the sidelines in wait for the moment he would be needed to take over and do damage control, though _only_ out of necessity.

"I want to _help you_ , Regulus," Scar's hand hovered next to his, almost as though she wanted the physical contact but knew better. His eyebrows knit together in frustration, but before he could volley some caustic retort, she crossed her legs and confidently proceeded. "I'm going to be perfectly blunt with you and lay all my cards on the table. How you choose to respond is entirely up to you. …You're scared. When I look at you, despite that _impressive_ mask you parade throughout the castle, that's what I see: a scared boy."

Again, Regulus, his eyes tightening in anger, parted his lips to interrupt. " _I'm not scared_ , of _anything_!" he harshly spat out. But the redhead was wholly unaffected by his tone and continued undeterred, her next words spoken matter-of-factly, "Yes, you are." She held up a hand, promptly halting any further interruptions. "Of the future. The future _terrifies_ you. Not the unknown prospect, but the _known_. You, Regulus, _know exactly_ where you'll be and _that_! _That_ is what scares you."

His taut jaw relaxed as his teeth unclenched, his rage morphing into surprise and, if Scar wasn't mistaken, _fear_.

"Sirius had never been the poster boy for Slytherin, he never looked down on Muggles and those not of _pure blood_ ," she sneered, the words 'pure' and 'blood' escaping her lips as though it were toxic, painting a vivid picture for the Slytherin in regards to her beliefs on blood purity. "And when the Sorting Hat placed him in Gryffindor, all your suspicions cemented. When _you_ decided to follow tradition and get sorted into Slytherin, the weakened bond between you and Sirius tore. Don't worry, this is all on Sirius," her lips pulled into a comforting and slightly conspiratorial smile, though her eyes were hard with disapproval. "He's your big brother, his job is to protect you, to be there for you, but instead, he abandoned you. _But_ , I'm not here to fathom the workings of your idiot brother's mind."

That drew a surprised snicker out of the young Slytherin, and Scar felt warmth engulf her. She always had a soft spot for Regulus; when _her_ Sirius first informed her of his Death Eater brother who died too young, her heart went out to him. She understood Sirius's reasons for abandoning him, but being in the past, seeing everything with her own two eyes and _experiencing it_ , Scar couldn't help but feel that her godfather had the perfect opportunity, was in _the best position_ , to save him from the dark path of servitude and death. However, Kreacher's tale promoted Regulus Black to one of her idols – the Slytherin deduced Voldemort created Horcruxes with barely anything to go on and set out to, if not destroy, at least defy, his ' _Master_ '. Regulus Black was a misguided boy and he died an unsung hero and Scar would _kill_ to save him from such a gruesome and lonely fate.

Regulus Black would not die in a cold cave, his body lost forevermore in an Inferi-infested lake if Scarlett had anything to say about it.

"I'm willing to bet my Wizengamot seats, that your mother expects your brother to become a Death Eater in the coming Yule," she randomly uttered with astounding confidence. Turquoise orbs widened and he very nearly toppled off his chair, spluttering all the while at her precise prediction. She smirked bitterly, "But you and I, and probably even your mother and deranged cousin Bella over there-" she absently jabbed her thumb over her shoulder to where she sensed Bellatrix sat, Regulus blinking at her blind accuracy, "-know that Sirius would rather chop off his own arm than be branded like cattle." Regulus winced at the backhanded insult, but Scar shrugged it off, "Which leaves… _you_."

He nodded somberly, "What about me."

"Oh, don't play coy with me, Mr. Black," the redhead smirked, her eyes doing a half eye roll. "And the dumb act doesn't suit you either, so cut it out. With Sirius out of the picture, that leaves you to step up and 'make the Black Family proud'," she air-quoted in a snide tone, her distaste unequivocally clear. "And you don't have it in you to disappoint. You're terrified because you know by next Yule, you'll be a Death Eater and you, despite your attempts to show otherwise, _don't want that_."

A heavy silence hung overhead, emerald-violets intensely connected to a pair of emotional turquoise orbs, none of them backing down from the stare-off. He held his breath as he scrutinized her; she was sly and cunning – two traits Salazar Slytherin valued and possessed – and definitely left no doubt to her cleverness. She made it abundantly clear without the use of words, that she opposed Voldemort and the bigoted pureblood beliefs, a controversy to her title as Lady Slytherin, which brought more doubt.

… _What if this was all a test?_

On the other hand, she didn't strike him as a cruel person.

"What do you want from me?" he whispered in defeat, repeating his previous statement.

Uncrossing her legs, she leaned forward and smiled, a genuine expression that filled him with the warmth he desperately needed and lacked in his life, and simply said, "I want to be your friend. Your shoulder to cry on. The person you speak your mind to and trade ideas with. The person that will show you the right path and the person that will _never_ lead you astray. You don't _ever_ have to be alone. With me by your side, you don't _ever_ have to conform to _anyone's_ will or expectations but your own." Standing up, she brushed down her skirt, "Think about it and once you've come to a decision, find me. It was nice talking to you, Mr. Black." And with a parting wink, she sashayed out of the Library.

Pausing by the three Marauders, she smirked at them, the cold glint in her eyes belying the cheeky pull of her lips, "Potter, Black, next time you choose to tail me around the castle, I _implore_ you to have second thoughts, because I won't be as forgiving." Pinning their shocked faces, she glared daggers and departed the premises.

She already placed her offer on the table and gave Regulus the escape and _choice_ nobody bothered to provide him. What Regulus chose to do with it, was entirely up to him.

 _The ball was now in his court._

* * *

 _September 20_ _th_ _, 1976;_

 **H** e felt the need to defend their actions, knowing fully well that if James and Sirius knew Remus was attempting to make excuses for them to ' _Enemy Number 1_ ' – insert eye roll – they would be _severely_ displeased. Since becoming her Ancient Runes partner and having neighboring beds in their short stint in the Hospital Wing, Remus found that he could no longer ignore Moony's incessant howls about Scarlett Emrys-Slytherin being part of his pack – an enigma he had yet to confide in his fellow Marauders out of fear they would abandon him.

"I'm sorry about James and Sirius." Repeating many different scenarios in his head, Remus finally decided to preface with that and he mentally facepalmed, realizing belatedly how pitiful it sounded. Thankfully, the redhead merely turned from her classwork to meet his gaze with amusement, an eyebrow arched. Stuttering and stumbling with his words, a profuse blush spread across his visage and stopped at the tip of his ears, his amber orbs averted, "I me-mean, what I, what I meant to say is that… well, James and Sirius they, well." He clamped his mouth shut, swallowed, cleared his throat and spoke in a much more calmer and confident manner, "They're idiots. Arrogant idiots who rarely get caught sneaking around so naturally, they got caught up in their own arrogance… I'm sure if they knew you were aware of them following you around they wouldn't have done so in the first place."

Her amusement intensified and a bell-like giggle escaped her lips, "Yes, they would." Inhaling deeply, she slowly exhaled and with a gentle smile, said, "You don't have to make excuses for them, Remus. Contrary to what you believe, it's not your job. _But_ , I am touched you spent the better half of the lesson rehearsing that impressive speech in your head."

Remus grinned sheepishly, "You, uh, caught that, huh? Not much gets past you."

"Nope," she beamed, popping the 'p'. Her expression then became serious, "No, but seriously, stop making excuses for them. You can sugarcoat your words but I know how much they despise and distrust me. And I'm cool with it. My decision to attend Hogwarts wasn't based on making friends." And with a friendly pat to his shoulder, Scar gathered her belongings and began closing the distance to the door.

Amber orbs narrowing on Dolohov and Lestrange, Moony inwardly growled, not liking the way their stares followed her every move and he immediately pursued her, slightly out of breath. "Hey," he panted. "Let me walk you back."

Bemused, violet-greens scrutinized him for a moment before she slowly shrugged a shoulder and, uncertainty tingeing her voice, agreed. A surge of guilt spread inside of him when, the moment they walked through the Fat Lady's portrait, Scar pretended they weren't on friendly terms and ascended the stairs to the girls' dormitories, upon seeing the suspicious and narrowed glares aimed towards him and the redhead. Only Lily wasn't fooled as she had been sneakily observing their relationship mature from acquaintances to friends, however, other than a disappointed look aimed at Remus, she didn't breathe a word and joined Marlene and Dorcas by the futon.

"For a second there, I thought you and Emrys-Slytherin were friends," Sirius sneered in distaste at the mere thought of _anybody_ choosing to befriend the sneaky Slytherin. James looked to be in agreement however, he mischievously retorted, "Padfoot's still furious about seeing her with Regulus."

" _Am not_ ," the Black heir growled, sounding eerily like his Animagus form. He then focused his attention back onto the werewolf, silver eyes as hard as steel, "Anyways. You. Emrys-Slytherin. You've anything to say, Moony?" Remus rolled his eyes, adamantly ignoring both, Lily's patented 'I am so disappointed in you, I thought you were better than that' look, and the guilt churning in his belly. Flashing Sirius his signature 'you're an idiot' grin, he clapped him on the back, "Course not, Padfoot. We're just partners until Vector decides it's time to shuffle us again."

Suspicion diminishing, Sirius's orbs softened and he let out a bark-like laugh, "I knew that. Silly thought."

"Yeah," Remus chuckled, scratching the nape of his neck – a nervous tick James knew and therefore, unbeknownst to the werewolf, James instantly caught his lie, though thankfully, decided to keep it to himself for now. _However_ , keeping it to himself didn't mean he was going to make it easy for the werewolf and he began to blatantly badmouth the Slytherin descendant, Sirius, Peter and even Marlene, joining in.

Alice, who was snuggled comfortably in Frank's embrace, traded a horrified look with an ashamed Lily and Dorcas, unable to believe their blonde friend had the capability of being so _mean_. Remus squirmed uncomfortably, ashamed yet aware that if he maintained his silence it would only evoke Sirius's suspicions.

What horrified them the most however, was when the subject of their insults, her expression impassive and distorted orbs blank, casually strutted past them and out of the common room, evidently unbothered by their defamation.

" _Marlene_!" Lily shrieked. "That was uncalled for. I didn't know you could be so rude! What's wrong with you?"

The blonde scoffed, not the least bit ashamed about the fact that Scar overheard them, " _What_? I don't trust her, Lils. Nobody here does. You're just too nice to admit it."

But to their amazement, Frank intervened, "I do." Prompting all eyes to be fixated on them, dumfounded to their very core. "She hasn't done _anything_ to warrant your hatred and cruelty. Frankly, if being a Gryffindor means abandoning one of our own and treating her like a pariah, then I'm ashamed to be a Lion." And, parting them with an expression filled with disgust, he stormed off to his dormitory, Fabian and Gideon at his heels.

Lily glared at the Marauders and Marlene and, without sparing them another word, took Frank's example, Dorcas and Alice joining her.

Shocked, James, Sirius, Peter and Marlene gaped at their retreating backs.

"What the _bloody hell_ just happened?" Sirius demanded, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows furiously knitting together. Remus responded by taking their lead and leaving them on their own, seeking solace in his dormitory.

 **S** ticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

That particular phrase reverberated in the recess of her mind as she covered the distance between the Gryffindor Common Room and the Headmaster's Office. That phrase had been her saving grace from her childhood when Dudley and his goons mocked and insulted her without abandon. A phrase she carried with her throughout her years at Hogwarts when, one year she'd be painted a hero, and the next, vilified as the next Dark Lady.

Scarlett was no stranger to name-calling, abuse and slanderous remarks and insults hurled behind her back and to her face. But it didn't mean it hurt any less, especially from the teenaged versions of her father and godfather.

"I'm sorry, dear girl," Albus apologized, sympathizing with the redhead. She scoffed and rolled her eyes as she deposited herself in her customary armchair the Headmaster started reserving for her. Of course Albus Dumbledore overheard the ugly exchange that recently took place – nothing ever got past him; he probably had portraits spying on everyone for him.

She absentmindedly waved a hand in the air and forced a smile, "Before I traveled to the past, your future-self warned me… told me that, whatever happens, Sirius isn't my godfather and James isn't my father. So, I'm _really_ trying to not take it personally."

"How very commendable of you," Albus sadly remarked. Shaking his head, he changed the subject, "What brings you here?"

Adopting a professional disposition, Scar cleared her throat and dove right into business, "I believe it's time to get proactive, Dumbledore. I mistakenly thought I had more time, until the end of next year, but, alas, Henry Longbottom proved me wrong. The Horcruxes can be left alone for now. I'd prefer we destroy Voldemort's anchors moments before killing him. However, there are more pressing matters we need to tackle. The ambush at Diagon Alley was just the beginning. According to your notes, by October, many raids shall take place. My interference might have changed a few things as the Death Eaters were most probably informed by _Tom_ that the Aurors won't be aiming to kill, but to capture alive. Nevertheless, I'd feel more comfortable stationing myself in all the locations he chose to raid, hopefully with backup from the Order."

"I believe you are correct, my dear girl," the guilt ate at him. "Tom knows about my proclivity for redemption." Surprise consumed the redhead and it must have shown on her face, for Albus smiled halfheartedly, "Yes, I believe I have, as the Muggles say, turned over a new leaf. I shall have a few words with the Head of DMLE, your grandfather-" he twinkled at her from over half-moon spectacles, "-about dealing the death blow instead of capturing Death Eaters alive."

A bubble of surprised, yet relieved, laughter escaped Scar's lips, "Moody will be pleased."

"I believe so. You've intrigued him," he informed her, gazing at her like he always did: like a proud and genial grandfather. "On that matter, Scarlett, I believe the time has come to introduce you to the Order. They shall not be privy to the truth, only that you're the only survivor of one of Tom's raids and wish to fight. I'll vouch for you," he chuckled.

Scar rolled her eyes, amusement coloring her features, "Of that I had no doubt. On another note, I cannot, in good conscience, allow Anastasiya to remain Voldemort's prisoner for a second longer."

"I quite agree. Nor can I."

" _However_ ," Scar stressed, conflicted as she weighed the pros and the cons of liberating Anastasiya. "While eventually advantageous in ridding us from Voldemort's plague as it will create doubt within the pureblood community, the truth of Anastasiya's whereabouts cannot come out. Not only would her life be in constant danger, but it would completely destroy the timeline and I'll be going in blind."

Eyebrows arched, Albus couldn't deny Scarlett made a compelling argument. "I assume you have a plan…" he trailed off questioningly.

"…We kill her."

 **I** t was an hour past midnight when he finally decided to make an appearance.

The redhead stepped out of the shadows and allowed the pair of blazing onyx orbs to identify her.

"You."

Her voice calm, Scar stated, "You already knew it was me. I'm sure you've had my handwriting committed to memory from our first potions class."

Before she could change her mind, the moment the redhead concluded brainstorming with the Headmaster, she headed straight to the owlery and sent one of the school owls to Antonin, demanding they speak urgently. She knew he couldn't refuse the opportunity to finally receive answers and quell his curiosity, and Scar played on that, using it for her means.

There was no going back and truth be told, Scar was utterly terrified.

"I assumed you no longer wished to be on speaking terms with me," he dryly admitted. His poor choice of words produced a cynical scoff and, after casting a few extremely powerful privacy charms that had the Slytherin's eyebrows jump to dangerous levels, said, "You're confusing yourself with Lestrange. I have a business proposition for you, Dolohov, and I need you to listen to everything I have to say-"

Glaring viciously at her, he sneered, "I don't care about the needs of a _filthy_ blood traitor."

He turned around and went to leave.

"Not even if this _filthy blood traitor_ has information regarding your sister's whereabouts?"

 **A/N: ****I know, I know. After leaving you all hanging for over a year, I give you a cliffhanger. I'm horrible…** ** _I know_** **! But things are finally moving quickly, Scar's going to start taking action and that requires a chapter of its own, so sue me. LOL!**

 **I hope you found this chapter enjoyable after the long wait, which I totally apologize for, but, like I said, I didn't, nor would I ever, abandon this story.**

 **Next chapter, the fun begins! XD**

 **R &R.**


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